


Smoke

by Partridge_Scolops



Series: First Time for Everything [3]
Category: Stormlight Archive - Brandon Sanderson
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Assassination Plot(s), Break Up, Canon-Typical Violence, First Crush, First Dates, M/M, Revenge, Spoilers, for Oathbringer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-04
Updated: 2018-08-26
Packaged: 2019-06-04 23:48:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 37,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15157874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Partridge_Scolops/pseuds/Partridge_Scolops
Summary: At 23 years old, Kaladin gets his first boyfriend. Because nothing can go well in his life, it only takes a year before everything falls apart.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Once again, if you haven't read parts 1 and 2, please read those before this one!
> 
> This chapter includes more of Kaladin pretending not to pine for Adolin. One day, buddy. I promise.

_Well, they brought hearts and daggers,_  
_They wrote songs about you,_  
_And they tied you up_  
_In the rungs of ladders._  
_And you never ended up_  
_Coming home. You just_  
_Became something like some smoke_  
_That I tried too hard to hold._

* * *

 

After finally ditching Relis, Kaladin busied himself with summer classes and work and tried to forget all about the mistake that had been that “relationship”. It had taken six months, but he’d somehow recovered his dignity from the garbage where he’d thrown it (it had just been sitting in there along with his self-respect and common sense). His only solace was that he could treat the whole Relis thing as a learning experience. Sex could be good and sex could be bad. Sex could come with companionship or sex could be lonely. Either way, he could take it or leave it.

Kaladin pushed open the back door of The Bridge and clocked in for a shift, then he rounded the corner to find Skar showing a new guy the correct way to drop fries. He did his best not to stare.

The new guy was around 6’2” in height. He had a lean but muscular build, an angular face, messy chestnut hair, and hazel eyes. The crooked grin he threw Kaladin’s way only added to his appeal, and Kaladin had to admit to himself that the man was attractive—which was a surprise in itself; he hadn’t really found anyone attractive since Adam. 

“Hey, Kaladin,” Skar called, waving him over. “Newbie’s here!”

Peet and his bartender, Ka, were apparently pretty serious. Serious enough that, to please Ka—who disapproved of The Bridge and its sexist policies—Peet had gotten another job. He’d put in his two weeks’ notice the week before and Gaz had been searching for someone to take his place. Apparently, he’d finally settled on someone.

Hoping no one had noticed the once-over he’d given the guy, Kaladin held out his hand in greeting. “Hey. I’m Kaladin. Nice to meet you.”

“Moash,” the other man said, taking Kaladin’s hand in a firm grip. “So you’re the famous Kaladin everyone’s told me about.”

“Don’t listen to anything these guys say.”

“Only good things!” Rock defended from the his place at the grill. “And Moash is very good listener. He asked many questions.”

Kaladin groaned.

Moash laughed and clapped a hand to Kaladin’s shoulder consolingly. “Hey, don’t worry about it. They didn’t tell me anything too personal.”

Kaladin blinked. That didn’t sound like his friends at all.

“Besides, us gays have to stick together.”

Yep, there it was. Just kill him now.

Kaladin turned around without another word, washed his hands, and started chopping onions viciously. And if he pictured them each to be one of his friend’s heads, well, no one needed to know about that.

***~*~*~*~*~*~***

As the day went on, Kaladin monitored the new guy’s progress as the other Bridge men took turns training him. He studiously took direction from Teft, who had the most experience out of everyone in the kitchen, save Rock, perhaps.

“You’re cutting that all wrong, lad,” Teft said as Moash sliced onions.

Moash raised his eyebrows at the older man, then looked back down at the produce. “What’s wrong with it?”

“You don’t move the knife toward the onion, you push the onion toward the knife. Here.” Teft took up the knife and the onion and positioned his hands as if to make a slice. “See how the tip of the blade is touching the cutting board? Never pick that up. When you pick it up, you waste time and your slices are uneven. It’s sloppy.”

Moash nodded.

“And the other hand,” Teft continued, “should never hold the onion with your fingers sticking out like that. You want to lose a fingertip?”

“No.”

“That’s what I thought. See the way I’ve got my fingers curled inwards?”

Moash nodded again, imitating the hand position.

“Just use your knuckles to push the onion forward, and keep the knife anchored and chopping at a steady pace.” Teft sliced the onion swiftly and smoothly into thin, even slices. It looked effortless. “Give it a try, but go slow at first until you get the hang of it.”

Moash’s next cutting attempt was slower, but he definitely had the right idea now. Teft grinned and clapped him on the shoulder.

Later, Kaladin saw Moash in the dish pit with Lopen.

“She proposed to me that very day,” Lopen was saying as he pulled dishes from the sink and organized them on the washing racks. “But my conscience would not let me steal her from my friend—” The Herdazian interrupted himself to point at a pan crusted with baked macaroni and cheese. “You’re going to rinse that, aren’t you?”

“Oh, right.” Moash sprayed the pan until just about everything had come off. “Here.”

Lopen inspected the pan. “Better,” he decided, slotting it into the rack and sliding the whole thing onto the conveyor belt leading to dishwasher. “Anyway, her heart was broken, sure, but Peet is almost as good as the Lopen and she is happy now.”

“That was very selfless of you,” Moash responded, catching Kaladin’s eye and shooting him a conspiratorial grin.

“It was, yes. Oh,” Lopen said at the look of a pizza pan covered in burned tomato sauce. “That needs to be scrubbed.” He picked up a bundle of steel wool and foisted it off on Moash. “Get to it.”

By the end of the day, Kaladin had noted with satisfaction that Moash fit right in with the Bridge crew. He got along with everyone, except their manager (but of course, who  _did_  get along with Gaz?) and he picked things up quickly—quicker than most new hires Kaladin had trained. Moash was capable and independent and had a good sense of humor. In fact, Kaladin couldn’t find any reason not to like him.

Near the end of his shift, Kaladin pulled Moash over to show him how to use the meat slicer. It was the first time they’d directly interacted since that morning, so it was understandable that Moash brought up their previous conversation.

“Hey, I’m sorry if I offended you this morning. The guys told me you were gay, but...was that just a joke?”

“No.” Kaladin frowned, operating the meat slicer to shave off slices of a large hunk of turkey. “Wouldn’t have been a very funny joke.”

Moash furrowed his brows. “Are you not out?”

“Yeah. No, they didn’t out me. They aren’t _that_ big of assholes.” Kaladin shrugged. “I know they mean well. I just wish they would keep out of my business. Just for one day.”

“Oh. _Oh._ ” The other man’s eyes widened as he came to a realization. “They were trying to hook us up.” He laughed. “Do they think all gay guys have to be into each other?”

Kaladin snorted. “I wouldn’t put it past them. They’ve done this a dozen times. With _every_ gay guy they meet, without discretion, they’ll tell him they have a single friend who might be interested....”

Moash shook his head. “Sorry, man.”

“Not your fault.”

Kaladin stopped running the meat slicer to let Moash have a go, reminding him to watch his fingers. Moash, of course, had no difficulty using it.

Kaladin hoped his glances at the other man’s lean forearms could be passed off as him checking to make sure Moash was operating the machine correctly. Was it a big deal that Kaladin found him physically attractive? Just because he hadn’t been interested in anyone since Adam, did that really mean anything?

“So, out of the dozen times your friends tried to hook you up with strangers,” Moash began, “how many times did you end up being interested?”

“Literally none of them.”

Moash grinned rakishly and murmured, “Maybe thirteenth time’s the charm.”

Maybe he was right.

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

In addition to Moash fitting in well at work, Kaladin discovered that the two of them clicked in a way Kaladin had never really managed with the other Bridge men. Sure, they felt like family to him, but there were times when they didn’t seem to get Kaladin and times when he felt like he just wasn’t one of them. In the two or three weeks since Moash had been hired, Kaladin had never felt out of place around him or like he had to put on a front. It was refreshing.

“Hey,” Moash called, just as Kaladin was clocking out one day. “Wait up.” He jogged over to Kaladin so they could talk at a normal volume. “You wanna hang out at my place tonight? We could watch a movie, grab some pizza.”

Kaladin raised his eyebrows. He’d never been invited to someone’s house before. Had he? Well, perhaps Skar or Lopen had once invited him over, years ago, but Kaladin had turned them down so flatly that they’d never asked again. (He really should try to be more personable.) But now, as anti-social as he was, he was surprised to find that he actually wanted to go. He didn’t want Moash to never ask him again.

“Yeah.” The corners of Kaladin’s mouth turned upwards. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

“Cool. You want to just follow me there?”

Kaladin’s fledgling smile disappeared. “Oh. I, uh. I don’t actually have a car. I take the bus.”

“No problem.” Moash shrugged like Kaladin’s financial situation was no big deal. “I can drive you.”

Kaladin swallowed his embarrassment and accepted the ride. “Sure. I’ll pay you for gas,” he offered as he followed Moash to his car.

“Don’t worry about it. It’s like a mile or something.”

The other man waited for Kaladin to buckle up before backing out of the parking spot, and as they pulled onto the road, he looked over at Kaladin and grinned. “You know, everyone told me you were a hard-ass and I pictured you’d be...I dunno, more like Gaz, I guess.”

Kaladin cringed. He hoped never to be like their manager, who was just an all-around awful little man. “Please tell me you decided they’re wrong.”

Moash laughed. “Yeah. Right away I could tell that was a bad description. You’ve definitely got a stick up your ass, and sometimes you can be a wet blanket, but you’re alright.”

“Gee, thanks.”

Moash winked at him in response and Kaladin had to look out the window to hide his sudden smile, his ears warming.

Moash’s first impression of him wasn’t all that surprising; Kaladin had been told by many people throughout his life that he was a downer (and he could admit that he was). People tended to dislike him until they got to know him, and if they still didn’t like him, then the feeling was probably mutual. He was glad Moash didn’t fall into that category.

They took a left down a residential street and Kaladin realized he’d been zoning out. He fished for something to talk about. “So, how do you like working at the Bridge so far?”

“It pays the rent.” Moash shrugged. “But you and the guys are pretty great.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Most places I’ve worked before, people don’t really have each other’s backs. You guys are different.”

Kaladin held his head a little higher with pride. He didn’t tell Moash, but things had been different when Kaladin had first been hired at the Bridge. Employee turnover had been terrible. No one had talked to each other unless it was necessary and when they had talked, interactions had always been tinged with animosity. It had seemed like being an employee at The Bridge was some kind of death sentence. He’d worked really hard to bring up morale. It had taken a while to accomplish (at times it had felt impossible), but even Gaz had begrudgingly told him one day that ever since he’d been hired, the turnover had steadily dropped by almost 90%.

“Well, I’m glad you think so,” Kaladin said instead. “You’re a great fit.”

After a total of only ten minutes of driving, they pulled up to Moash’s apartment complex. (And if Kaladin had been a man prone to jealousy, he would have envied the other man for his short commute.)

Moash led him inside and gave him a quick tour. The apartment itself was pretty average and was similar to Kaladin’s, really; one bedroom, one bathroom (but Moash’s amenities were included, whereas Kaladin had to use a laundromat). The only real difference was that, where Kaladin’s apartment was rather bare, Moash’s at least looked lived in; he had a few punk rock posters and art hung on the walls, as well as a small bookshelf in the corner full of books (real books, not textbooks, because he wasn’t boring like Kaladin). On top of the bookshelf were a few photos.

Kaladin leaned down to peer at a photo of a young boy with messy brown hair. Behind him stood an elderly couple, each with a hand on one of the boy’s shoulders. “Is this you?”

Moash smiled. “Yeah, that’s me and my grandparents.”

“They look really nice,” Kaladin said. He’d never met his own grandparents.

“Yeah, they were.” Moash touched the picture frame. “I still miss them sometimes.”

Kaladin didn’t know what to say to this, so he didn’t say anything. Tien came to mind then, and his memory sat like a stone in Kaladin's pocket. Missing him hurt, but forgetting him would be worse. He turned to Moash and they shared a quiet smile tinged with sadness.

Soon, Moash seemed to snap out of his thoughts and moved away from the pictures. “So, what do you think?” he asked, dropping onto his couch. “Hungry? Or should we start the movie first?”

Kaladin took a seat at the other end of the couch. “We could order the pizza first. It might take a while to get here.”

“True.” Moash pulled out his cell phone. “What do you want? Supreme okay?”

Kaladin shrugged one shoulder and nodded.

“Cool. Go ahead and pick out a movie,” Moash added, pointing to the large shelf full of DVDs.

Kaladin did so while Moash ordered the pizza. It was hard to narrow it down to just one movie with so many choices, but he settled on something that had both action and comedy with a couple of famous actors as the starring duo.

“Thirty minutes ‘til it gets here,” Moash announced as he put away his phone. He grabbed a couple of remotes and started everything up. “Want anything to drink?”

“Water is fine.”

The other man snorted and rolled his eyes. “Lame.”

But he brought Kaladin a glass of water anyway, and a beer for himself.

For some reason, Kaladin felt nervous, like he might somehow mess up. But then, he’d never been good at having fun.... He glanced over at the other man to judge his posture. Moash was the portrait of confidence and ease. He lounged in his seat with his knees wide, one arm thrown over the back of the couch to rest half-way between himself and Kaladin, the other hand occasionally lifting a bottle of beer to his mouth. He didn’t seem to have any kind of expectation for the night whatsoever.

Okay, so Kaladin was just making things into a bigger deal than they really were. He took a breath and forced himself to relax.

They watched the movie companionably for a while, laughing at the punchlines and sometimes adding a comment or two. Kaladin had never seen the movie, though he’d heard of it, and he was glad it turned out to be pretty good.

When the pizza arrived, Kaladin pulled out his wallet and took out the cash for his half, but when he looked up, Moash was already answering the door. So he just rested his elbow on the armrest, propped his cheek on his fist, and continued to watch the movie (the other man hadn't bothered to pause it) until Moash returned.

“Here,” Kaladin said, holding out his money, but Moash just shook his head.

“Nah, I got this one.”

Kaladin didn’t miss the implication that there would be more of these get-togethers—that Moash was enjoying his company enough that he wanted to do this again—and that, more than anything, helped him to stop worrying about the night. “Thanks.”

“’Course.” The other man tossed the box of pizza on the coffee table and fetched some plates. “Sorry it’s pizza and not something healthy. I can’t cook for shit.”

Kaladin surprised himself as he said, “Maybe next time we can go to my place and I’ll make dinner.”

Moash gave him a wide smile in return for that suggestion. “Dude, that would be awesome. I haven’t had a homecooked meal since I was a kid.”

Kaladin took a bite of pizza to rid the butterflies in his stomach.

They dug in and continued watching the movie, but Kaladin found himself glancing over at the other man every so often. A small smile played on Moash's lips, even when there weren’t any jokes on the screen, and Kaladin again noted that he had nice features. Moash glanced over at him with a grin and Kaladin looked away quickly, hoping the other man couldn’t see his blush and hadn’t realized he’d been staring. Afraid of being caught again, he determinedly kept his eyes on the screen for the rest of the movie and only looked back at Moash when it was over.

As the credits rolled, the other man stood and stretched, shirt hiking to reveal a sliver of toned abs that Kaladin pointedly did _not_ stare at. “That was a good choice.”

Kaladin’s response was swallowed by a huge yawn. He’d only gotten a couple hours of sleep the night before. He checked his phone. What time...? Was it seriously _midnight_?

Moash looked up from the DVD he’d been putting away. “Tired?” he asked sympathetically. “You can crash here if you want.”

“Are you sure? You have a shift in the morning, right?”

Moash waved him off. “Yeah, it’s fine. I’ll just drop you off before I head in.” He walked into the bathroom, calling behind him, “I think I have an extra toothbrush somewhere.”

And he must have, because a moment later an unopened toothbrush came sailing into the back of Kaladin’s head where it rested on the couch, followed by a travel tube of toothpaste.

“Thanks.”

While Kaladin brushed his teeth, Moash grabbed him a pillow and a blanket and made sure he didn’t need anything else. Once he was sure Kaladin was good, he went off to bed with a casual, “Night, Kal.”

The unprompted use of Kaladin’s nickname (which none of the other Bridge men had ever called him), enveloped him in a feeling of warmth. He knew he was attracted to Moash, but even if Moash wasn’t interested in him, Kaladin could settle for them just being friends. He always felt alone in a crowded room, but in Moash he’d found someone that made him feel welcome even when they weren’t saying anything. Maybe someday, Kaladin would find someone who could do that _and_ want to date him.

For some reason (probably because Kaladin was secretly neurotic), Adam came to mind. Though their meeting had been brief, he’d made Kaladin feel the same way Moash did—like he could just be himself without judgement and he would still be accepted with open arms.

But what was the point of thinking about Adam? That night had been a year ago. The other man probably hadn’t spared Kaladin another thought since then—something Kaladin would have managed as well, if he didn’t enjoy being miserable. Moash, however, was very much real and present in Kaladin’s life. And anyway, the similarities between Adam and Moash should really just be a sign that Moash could be good for him—that was, if Moash was even interested in being anything other than friends.

Kaladin frowned in the darkness of Moash’s living room. Maybe he was getting ahead of himself.

 _“Go to sleep, Kal.”_ Adam’s words echoed in his mind in a voice he couldn’t really remember except that it had been pleasant.

Kaladin really needed to move on with his life.

He threw the blanket over his head with a resigned sigh and tried to get some sleep.

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

“Elhokar is a terrible president, and everyone knows it. He has no idea how to allocate funding, he started a war we don’t need to be involved in, he’s _awful_ at foreign relations—I could go on. He goes against everything I believe in, everything that made Alethkar a place I could be proud to live in.”

The Bridge crew had gathered at The Barracks after work for dinner and drinks, and somehow the discussion had shifted to politics, which was always a bad idea—especially if you had opinionated people in your group. It appeared that Moash was one such person.

“He’s not great, but he’s got his father’s legacy to live up to,” Skar pointed out. “He’s trying to do what he thinks is right, for the country and for his father. Granted, he’s a little misguided, but plenty of people agreed with him at the outset, so they’re just as much to blame for the war.”

Moash scoffed.

“And remember, he’s young—the youngest president in history.”

“That’s no excuse,” Moash insisted. “Hell, _I_ could run the country better than he does.”

Skar raised an eyebrow in challenge. “Could you?”

Moash stood abruptly, slammed his hands on the table, and leaned into Skar’s space. “That piece of shit can’t even _wipe his own_ _ass_ without someone telling him how to do it,” he hissed. “Someone needs to assassinate him before he destroys what’s left of this country.”

“You need to back off, Moash,” Skar warned, looking the other man in the eye. “I don’t wanna fight you, but I will if you push me.”

“Then stop defending him.”

“What’s it to you? Maybe I don’t think he’s such a bad guy. At least he’s trying. You’re the one who’s acting like he personally killed your family.”

Moash snapped out an arm and grabbed the front of Skar’s shirt, pulling the smaller man close as he flung his other arm back, muscles coiled and ready to throw a punch.

“Moash,” Kaladin interrupted, voice stern but quiet. He covered Moash’s fist with his own hand. “Skar is not your enemy.”

Moash didn’t look away from Skar, his body tense and his facial features twisted in rage. Though he didn’t punch the other man, he also didn’t lower his fist or let Skar go.

“Hey.” Kaladin stepped between them so that Moash was forced to look at him. “Come on.”

Moash glared up at him for a long moment, perhaps considering whether he could take Kaladin on as well. Soon enough, he gave up, dropping Skar with a shove and lowering his fist. “Fuck all of you,” he muttered at the floor.

Kaladin frowned. Why did this feel so personal?

As Moash turned away, Kaladin caught his shoulder, hoping to reconcile things, but his hand was slapped away as Moash snapped, “Don’t touch me.”

Then he stormed off, slamming open the door of the bar and disappearing into the parking lot.

Kaladin turned to the rest of the Bridge crew. “I’ll be right back, guys. I’m gonna go talk to him.”

“Good luck,” Skar muttered. “Guy’s got a chip on his shoulder bigger than Roshar.”

Once outside, Kaladin found Moash sitting on the curb, forearms propped on his knees. As Kaladin approached, the other man turned his head to glance at him briefly before looking away. Moash didn’t appear angry that he’d been followed, so Kaladin took that as permission to sit beside him.

For a good ten minutes, neither of them said anything. Moash just stared at his feet while Kaladin crossed his arms over his knees, watching the other man. As time passed, Moash's body language slowly bled from tensed and defensive to a sort of weariness. He sighed through his nose, seeming to deflate, and at that point Kaladin felt it was safe to speak.

“Wanna talk about it?”

“I dunno.” Moash turned to him, eyes assessing. “Who’s side are you on?”

Kaladin frowned. “There aren’t any sides here.”

Moash scoffed and turned away again.

“There _aren’t_ because I’m not talking politics right now. I’m talking about _you_.”

The other man visibly swallowed, but didn’t respond.

“It wasn’t a political view you were going to punch Skar over. Who is your _friend_ , by the way,” Kaladin added. “Was it because he mentioned your fam—”

“Don’t.”

So that was it. Maybe Skar had hit a little too close to home. Kaladin waited until Moash looked up again and met his eyes. “What happened?”

After a long pause, Moash started to talk.

Early after Elhokar had won the election three years ago, he’d passed several bills, one of which had favored large businesses, cutting them a huge tax break while raising taxes for small businesses. It had also reduced the amount of expenses that small businesses could deduct from their taxes, so it was a twofold blow and a _lot_ of small businesses went under when the bill went into effect. Kaladin remembered how he’d worried for his father’s small medical practice and how he’d checked the Hearthstone Gazette every so often to make sure Lirin was still doing alright.

Apparently, Moash’s grandparents—the only family he’d had left—hadn’t fared as well as Kaladin’s father.

"Long story short, they went broke. The worst part is, I might have been able to help, but I was travelling at the time; I had no idea they were even in trouble. I came back home a year later and their fucking next door neighbor told me they were dead. Just like that. ‘They’re dead, son.’” Moash angrily swiped at the moisture in his eyes. “They were all alone.”

“I’m sorry,” Kaladin whispered.

“You could say I have a grudge,” the other man admitted, bitterly. “I would do anything to get ten minutes alone with Elhokar in a locked room.”

“It wouldn’t bring them back.”

“I’m _past_ that point,” Moash spat. “I just want him to suffer like he made them suffer.”

Kaladin didn’t exactly agree with Moash’s sentiment, but he knew that the loss of a loved one was a pain that never truly went away. Rather than argue, rather than stir the bitterness Moash held in his heart, Kaladin simply sat beside his friend in silence. He figured the only thing he could do for Moash now was to just be there for him.

After ten minutes or so, Moash let out a breath and bumped his shoulder into Kaladin’s.

“Thanks for listening,” he said, the ghost of a smile on his face. It wasn’t anything like his normal smile, but it was better than the dark expression he’d been wearing for a good portion of the night.

Kaladin returned the gesture, briefly leaning against Moash’s shoulder. “Thanks for telling me.”

They shared eye contact for a long moment and Kaladin held his breath, not daring to blink. It suddenly felt as though their faces were very close—so close Kaladin could actually see a small scar above Moash’s left eyebrow for the first time. The other man’s gaze was so intense, some unnamed emotion turning over in those hazel eyes, and Kaladin didn’t want to look away.

Suddenly, the door to the bar burst open, slamming against the side of the building and making Kaladin jump.

“Get to da choppa!!” Lopen yelled, pointing dramatically towards the parking lot. He then noticed Kaladin and Moash and grinned. “Oh, hey, guys.”

Kaladin lifted a hand in a motionless wave as Moash stood up and approached the others. Skar squared his jaw as the other man stood before him, on alert but not aggressive.

“Hey,” Moash said, voice low. “Sorry for being a dick.”

Skar eyed him for a moment, then shrugged and raised his hand for a shake. “Same here.”

The two men shook hands and clapped each other on the back. And by some unspoken agreement, none of the Bridge men mentioned that night—or Elhokar Kholin—ever again.

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

It was a busy day at the Bridge.  Orders were coming in faster than they could be made and most of the crew was stressed. Kaladin felt it was his duty to keep them working together as a unit, and he outwardly exuded the manner of someone calm and in control, even if inside he was freaking out just a little.

“Skar,” Kaladin barked, “where are we on fries?”

“This batch just finished, and I’ve got more that should be done in two minutes.”

“Teft?”

“Plating them now,” Teft grunted. To the servers he shouted, “Order up!”

“Burgers?” Kaladin asked, as he passed Rock on his way to the walk-in refrigerator.

“Looking good. But I could use some more—”

Kaladin dropped a tube of packaged ground beef on the prep table next to the grill.

“Meat,” Rock finished with a grin.

It was rare that they ran out of burgers since they prepped so many of them in the morning. It was a sure sign that today was rough.

Kaladin pressed the beef into a mold to form even, compact patties—he could only make six at a time, which was slower than he wanted—ready to be thrown onto the grill. Meanwhile, Rock let the ones he was cooking sit for a moment to sauté some onions and peppers for a few orders of Philly cheesesteaks. Kaladin made a mental note to check on how much of that was still prepped, but he was pretty sure they would be safe on that front as it wasn’t as popular a menu item.

“Moash,” he called over his shoulder. “How’s the pizza going?”

“Done. Let me just—” There was a clatter, and Kaladin turned just in time to see Moash fumble with the hot pan and—clearly without thinking—grab it with his ungloved left hand.

“Moash!”

“Shit!” Moash dropped the pan, which crashed to the floor along with the pizza.

Kaladin had already left his station and hurried to wash his hands as quickly as possible.

“Fuck!” Moash yelled, slamming the oven shut and punching the side of it furiously, over and over.

“Hey! Moash, stop! Come here.”

The other man turned, pain and anger in his eyes which seemed to abate after he met Kaladin’s gaze. He then bowed his head, cradled his left hand in his right, and walked over to where Kaladin stood at the sink. Gently, Kaladin took Moash’s shaking hand and ran it under a low stream of cool water. The burn was bad, but not quite so bad that it would scar. He could see it was already starting to blister, though. 

“You’re okay,” he said consolingly. “Does this feel better?"

“Yeah,” Moash ground out through gritted teeth. “I dropped the pizza, though.”

“Don’t worry about it. The customers can wait a little longer. If they complain we’ll give them a free appetizer.”

Moash gave him a weak smile. This was the first time he’d messed up on the job, and he was probably kicking himself for it. Honestly, Kaladin had seen people fare much worse on far easier days. Moash had nothing to be ashamed of.

He then noticed Moash’s bloody knuckles and clucked his tongue. “You’re hand’s going to be bruised on top of burned. Why’d you have to attack the oven?”

“Sorry,” the other man mumbled, uncharacteristically quiet.

Kaladin glanced up, but Moash didn’t meet his eyes. He stood stiffly with a tight-lipped frown, head tilted down to watch his hand under the running water, his hair falling into his eyes. Was he embarrassed? Ashamed? Kaladin hadn’t meant to really chastise him.

After twenty minutes had passed and Moash indicated the burn no longer hurt as much, Kaladin turned off the water. “Let’s bandage this.”

He led Moash over to Gaz’s office, where he knew a first aid kit was located, and directed the other man to sit in an empty chair. Moash took a seat silently, still cradling his injured hand. He didn’t even make a sound when Kaladin gently rubbed antibiotic ointment on the burn, nor when Kaladin held a non-stick bandage to his hand and wrapped it loosely with gauze.

“You’re going to want to put a cool, wet cloth on this for a few minutes every day,” Kaladin explained as he worked. “ _Don’t_ use ice. And if the blisters pop, that’s fine, just keep your hand clean to prevent infection—by which I mean wash it every day, even if you don’t use it and the blisters haven’t burst,” he clarified. “Change the bandage every day too. Don’t make it tight, because that will just hurt and make your hand swell up.”

Moash smiled when he finished, small but genuine. “Thanks, doc.”

Kaladin returned his smile and stood. “I think you should go home for the day. You’re only going to accidentally use that hand and end up making it worse.”

“But we’re slammed.”

“We can handle it.” 

“Kaladin, Gaz isn’t going to just let me walk out.”

“I’ll deal with Gaz,” Kaladin said firmly.

Moash got a twinkle in his eye at this statement. “So feisty,” he teased. “I like it.”

Kaladin ignored the small flutter of his heart at the idea Moash might be flirting with him. Honestly, he was just glad the other man’s humor was back. He tried to sound stern, but he couldn’t help cracking a smile as he said, “Go home, idiot.”

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

A few days later, Kaladin had a day off from work, so he texted Moash asking if he wanted to come over after his shift ended. The other man responded only a few minutes later with a simple text of “hell yeah.”

Kaladin went out and bought ingredients that morning (he’d decided on spaghetti because it was cheap and his mom’s recipe was both authentic and amazing). As soon as he got home, he turned on some music and started cooking. The recipe took eight hours or longer—but the end result was worth it (plus, for the most part, he could keep studying while it cooked, as long as he didn’t forget to stir)—so his entire day was just cooking and studying.

Around six, Moash texted to say he’d just gotten off work and was going to shower before coming over. Almost exactly thirty minutes later, Kaladin had just turned off the bubbling pot of sauce, taken the garlic bread out of the oven, and opened a bottle of wine when a knock sounded in the small apartment.

When he opened the door, Moash gave him a lopsided grin. “Hey.” He lifted a six pack in his right hand (his left hand still sported a bandage). “I brought beer.”

Kaladin moved aside to let him in. “Thanks. You didn’t have to.”

“Nah, no problem.” He kicked off his shoes as Kaladin closed the door behind him. “It smells amazing in here. Spaghetti?”

“Yeah.”

Moash turned to face him again, looking him up and down. Kaladin’s cheeks heated up, feeling self-conscious under the appraisal. He knew his hair was slipping out of its tie and he probably had spaghetti sauce all over his apron—which he’d only just remembered he was still wearing and hastily snatched off. He shifted from one foot to the other and waited for the other man to say something.

“You look nice,” Moash finally said with a crooked quirk of his lips, eyes meeting Kaladin’s. “I feel underdressed.”

Kaladin took his turn to observe the other man. He was wearing a black t-shirt and black jeans with Converse shoes. The color went well with his deep-olive skin tone. Moash’s messy chestnut hair had clearly been recently washed as it was still just slightly damp. And were those...? “Your ears are pierced?”

Moash laughed. “Yeah. I can’t wear earrings at work, but my ears have been pierced since middle school.”

He only had one piercing in each earlobe, and the dark studs he wore weren’t flashy or anything, just serving as an accessory to match his clothing. It looked good on him.

Kaladin shook himself out of his observations and remembered why Moash was here in the first place. “Um. You hungry?”

“Starving.”

They sat at Kaladin’s small dining table with a bowl of salad between them. Kaladin let Moash serve himself first before he took the tongs and doled out a decent portion of salad onto his own plate.

“How’s your hand doing?”

“Still hurts, but I’ve been doing what my doctor told me,” Moash said with a cheeky smile.

Kaladin looked down at his plate to hide his own smile. “Good.”

The other man poked at his salad—Kaladin noted with amusement that he was eating around the tomatoes—before he said, “So what kind of doctor are you going for?”

“Surgeon, actually.”

“Badass. How long does that take? Eight years?”

Kaladin nodded and swallowed his mouthful before answering. “Eight years of school and then a few years of residency before I can get my license.”

“How far along are you?”

“I have a year and a half left for my medical degree. I’ll start my clinical rotations in spring.”

“How long does that last?”

Kaladin set down his fork and sat up straighter. “I’m sorry, is this 20 questions?”

Moash smiled, abashed. “Guess I got carried away.” He ate his salad in silence for a moment, though he did glance up at Kaladin a few times, eyes piercing. Eventually, he said, “I didn’t finish high school, so the fact that you chose to do all of this extra education is crazy to me.”

“It’s a lot of work,” Kaladin admitted. “But it’s something I feel I have to do.”

“I know what you mean,” Moash said quietly. And then, “Are you gonna think less of me now?”

Kaladin frowned, brows furrowed. “Why would I think less of you?”

“I just told you I’m a high school drop-out. That’s not exactly something to be proud of.”

“Look,” Kaladin said, crossing his arms. “I don’t think it’s any of my business what level of education you’ve had, and really I don’t see how that would affect our friendship.”

Moash watched him for a long moment and Kaladin met those intense hazel eyes, attempting to convey the full weight of his words and the honesty behind them.  

Slowly, the other man’s mouth lifted minutely in one corner. “Okay, I believe you.”

Kaladin uncrossed his arms, releasing the breath he’d been holding in a huff of air through his nose. “Good.”

Then he picked up his fork again and they continued eating in companionable silence.

Once they both finished their salads, they grabbed some spaghetti. Kaladin tried not to watch Moash’s expression during his first bite, but he caught himself looking up surreptitiously, feeling stupidly nervous.

Apparently, he had nothing to worry about, as the other man beamed. “Kal. This is hands down the best spaghetti I’ve ever had.”

Kaladin breathed a sigh of relief. “Better than pizza, right?”

“Definitely.”

Moash washed it down with his beer (something Kaladin’s mother would have found amusing), while Kaladin sipped a glass of red wine. It had been a while since he’d really made a full meal for himself and he’d _never_ cooked for anyone else, aside from helping Hessina in the kitchen. Moash’s praise (which he repeated twice more throughout dinner) was encouraging.

When they finished eating, Moash grabbed the plates and followed Kaladin to the kitchen.

“You don’t have to help. It’ll just take me a minute.” Kaladin took the plates from the other man and rinsed them off.

Moash leaned one hip against the counter and shot him a crooked grin. “Hey, you made dinner. I can at least help you clean up.”

Kaladin felt himself smile, face warming, and moved to fill the sink with hot, soapy water. Moash was probably very aware of how attractive he was, and that would be perfectly fine if he just wouldn’t use it on Kaladin. “I’ll wash and you dry.”

Moash accepted the towel Kaladin handed him and took his position by the sink. And maybe Kaladin was just hyper aware of the other man’s presence, but he could swear he could feel the heat of Moash’s body next to his own. Every so often, their arms would brush, or their shoulders, and near the end of it Kaladin felt a little jittery.

“Thanks,” he managed to say, as he put away the last dish.

“Yeah, no problem.”

As Kaladin turned back around, Moash looked up at him and paused, an odd expression on his face like he was considering something or maybe steeling himself. Then, slowly, he reached up to swipe a thumb across Kaladin’s cheek, the touch gentle but undeniable. Kaladin’s skin tingled under the contact and his breath caught in his throat as he stared wide-eyed at the other man, like a deer caught in headlights. This was the first time anyone had touched him like that since Adam—Relis had certainly never been gentle or affectionate—and the touch triggered memories that made his heart race. Was Moash...interested in him that way?

“You had some soap suds on your face.”

“Oh...” Kaladin cleared his throat, wishing the floor would open beneath him and swallow him up. “Uh, thanks.” He tried not to feel disappointed and failed miserably.

Moash’s crooked smile was amused but warm, eyes roaming over Kaladin’s (definitely red) face for a long moment, which didn’t help Kaladin’s heart rate one bit.

But then Kaladin blinked and Moash stepped away. (When had he gotten so close?)

“So, movie?” Moash asked.

“Yeah.” Kaladin took a breath to recover from whatever that moment was. “Yeah. I picked last time, so go ahead. I don’t have as big of a selection, though.”

“That’s okay.”

Moash quickly picked a movie and Kaladin popped it into his $9 DVD player, then they settled down on the couch. The other man looked just as comfortable here as he had in his own apartment, affecting the same lazy sprawl.

Just before Kaladin pressed play, Syl flew over and landed on his shoulder, furthest from Moash.

“Woah, is that a bird?”

Kaladin smiled down at the little bluebird. “Yeah, this is Syl, short for Sylphrena.” He prompted her to stand on his finger and she obliged with a soft chirp. “Syl, this is Moash.” He brought her a little closer to the other man so he could get a better look.

“Hey, there, cutie.”

Moash reached forward, index finger extended to stroke at Syl’s chest. She cocked her head to the side, watching the finger approach, and as soon as he touched her, she puffed up her feathers and viciously nipped at the offending digit.

“Ow!”

“Syl!”

The bird gave an angry chirp and flew off into the bedroom. Kaladin watched her leave, bewildered to say the least—Syl was always so good natured—then he turned back to Moash.

“I’m so sorry.” He took Moash’s hand in his to inspect it for broken skin—Kaladin would have been mortified if this visit turned into another doctor/patient session—but he found no serious injury. At least it was Moash’s good hand that she’d bit. “I swear she’s never done that before.”

“’s okay. Just glad she didn’t peck my eyes out. I kinda like them.”

Kaladin laughed. “Me too.” Then he froze, realizing what he’d said. “But not—not like that. Um.” He coughed and dropped the other man’s hand. “Movie.”

Moash smirked at him, eyes bright, so Kaladin mashed the play button and stared at the screen—far more intently than anyone should stare at opening credits. Out of the corner of his eye, Kaladin could see Moash still watching him, but he couldn’t bring himself to look back. He kicked himself internally; his comment had been stupid, but he should have just played it off and it wouldn’t have been a big deal.

After a long moment, the other man turned his head away and Kaladin was finally able to relax. Hopefully, they’d both forget all about this. (But Kaladin had never been much of an optimist.)

He forced himself to pay attention to what was on the screen and realized Moash had picked one of his favorites. The movie was more serious than the one they’d watched before, so they didn’t talk through it like they had the last one. Once it was over, though, they discussed what the movie might mean, the motivations of some characters, and the reason for certain scenes or lines. They had differing views on the morality of the main antagonist, but both agreed his actions were pivotal to the later events of the movie. He was important, whether you liked him or not.

It felt good to debate like this. Kaladin wasn’t really able to discuss anything deeply with the other Bridge men. They were good people, but they didn’t care about this sort of thing, preferring jokes over intellectual discussions. Yet, he and Moash ended up talking for another two hours until Kaladin eventually—and reluctantly—had to call it a night.

“Sorry to cut it short like this,” he said as Moash put his shoes on by the door. “If I didn’t have class so early in the morning....”

“Nah, don’t sweat it. This was fun. My place, next time, yeah?”

Kaladin smiled, glad Moash didn’t feel put out. “Sounds good.”

And if Moash lingered for a moment in the doorway, hazel eyes tracing Kaladin’s face and settling on his mouth, well, Kaladin was sure he’d imagined it.

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

Over the next couple of months, Kaladin settled into his routine of working forty hours, studying twenty hours (if not more), and attending thirty hours of class. He didn’t have much time for sleep, much less anything else, but finals were in two weeks. After that, he’d be able to breathe.

At the moment, he was staring at a word document on his laptop, trying to decide if he’d tried to do too much with his term paper or if he just hadn’t tied everything together properly. Either way, it was probably B-worthy, at best, and that wouldn’t do.

Kaladin’s phone buzzed in his pocket, breaking him from his scowl.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Kal.” It was Moash, of course. No one else bothered to call him; most of the Bridge men preferred to text.

“Hey, Moash. What’s up?”

“Not much. I just haven’t seen you in over a week or something and we haven’t hung out in almost a month.” He hesitated, then admitted, “I kind of miss you.”

Kaladin smiled, feeling warm. “Sorry. I’ve just been swamped with class.”

“Yeah. So, I know you’re busy, but you have to eat, right?”

“Uh, right.”

“Wanna have dinner at my place? I promise I’ll get you home early. Ten at the latest.”

It was tempting. And actually, Kaladin didn’t have any food in his fridge since he hadn’t had time to go grocery shopping. More than that, he also missed spending time with Moash. Plus, it would only be a few hours, and it was good to take breaks once in a while (his last break had been...yesterday, when he’d passed out on his textbook).

At this point, Kaladin figured he’d come up with enough decent reasons to go, so he said, “Dinner sounds great.”

He could hear Moash’s smile as the other man said, “Awesome. Pick you up at six?”

“Sure. Six o’clock.”

“Great.” Moash paused for a moment, then said, “Well, see you then.”

“See you.”

Now Kaladin just needed to focus for the next few hours and finish this paper so he wouldn’t have to feel guilty about spending time with Moash.

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

Finals were over and Kaladin had about a month until the spring semester started. He wanted to take a break, to just relax, but of course he had a shift at The Bridge. He’d been running himself ragged up until finals and he knew that, sooner or later, he’d be too exhausted to move, too exhausted to care about anything.  But today, he had just enough energy to drag himself onto the bus and shuffle into work.

It was a blessing that The Bridge mostly relied on the college crowd; during the winter break, things slowed down tremendously. He’d probably have an easy day today.

Rock was the first to greet him when he clocked in. “You are not well, Kaladin. This thing is easy to see.”

“I’m fine, Rock. Just tired, is all.”

“Ah, but The Bridge, she is slow today. I will make you Horneater stew. It will give you strength.”

Kaladin would protest, but this was actually not the first time Rock had decided to make him stew. In fact, it was one of the things that had helped with the employee turnover issue. Rock and his excellent cooking had kind of been Kaladin’s secret weapon against the epidemic of depression amongst Bridge employees.

He accepted Rock’s offer, washed his hands, and got to work. A half-hour later, he’d just finished throwing a tray of shepherd’s pie into the oven when Moash walked in.

“Kal!” The other man’s face brightened as soon as he saw Kaladin. “I haven’t seen you in a while, man.”

“Hey. Sorry.” Kaladin dropped his oven mitts onto the counter and started putting away left over ingredients while he talked. “I’ve been really busy with finals, but they’re officially over.”

“Sweet. You wanna hang out, then? You could come to my place, or maybe we could go out and do something—maybe bowling?”

“Sure.”

Kaladin wished he could stop his smile, certain that he looked like an idiot, but Moash had that effect on him. He’d admitted to himself after the last time they’d seen each other outside of work that he was definitely crushing on the other man. As for Moash’s feelings, he couldn’t be sure. Sometimes he thought Moash was giving him signals, but then he would switch into friend mode and punch Kaladin in the arm or call him ‘bro’. Either way, Kaladin blushed too much around Moash and had butterflies every time their eyes met. He only hoped it wouldn’t cost him their friendship one day.

As predicted, work was slow (which suited Kaladin just fine) and most of the day was spent cleaning equipment while watching the other Bridge men make stupid bets with each other.

When it came time to leave, Kaladin and Moash fell in step with each other as they walked out to Moash’s car.

“You sure you aren’t too tired?” Moash asked. “We could do this another night.”

“I’m fine. Just get me home by midnight.”

“Yes, sir,” Moash said, opening Kaladin’s car door for him. Which was odd as he’d never done it before. Kaladin raised an eyebrow in question, but Moash just shrugged.

“Thanks,” Kaladin grunted as he climbed in.

Moash walked to the driver’s side and hopped in. “So, is bowling good, or did you want to do something else?”

“Bowling’s good.”

Kaladin hadn’t ever actually been bowling, but he didn’t really feel the need to tell Moash that. The other man would find out soon enough how terrible he was at it.

***~*~*~*~*~*~***

Turns out, you can have fun even when you’re really, _really_ bad at something. Once Moash found out Kaladin couldn’t bowl to save his life, they’d decided to just make silly shots, like the ‘granny shot’ where they would bend down into a half-crouch and slowly roll the ball down the aisle, or the backwards-between-the-legs shot. The two of them laughed at each other so much that sometimes they couldn’t even throw the ball.

At one point, Moash got some nachos for them to share and they took a quick break to munch on them.

“I learned something very important tonight,” Moash declared as he dunked a chip in cheese sauce.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” The other man grinned. “You make a pretty cute grandma, Kal.”

“Shut up,” Kaladin laughed. “At least I’m not the one who tried throwing the ball behind my back and made it into someone else’s lane.”  
  
“Hey, I got that guy a strike. He should be thanking me.”

Kaladin laughed again. He was sure he would never see something like that again for as long as he lived; it had clearly been a fluke that Moash was all too happy to claim as actual skill.

“You know, I could show you how to bowl, if you want,” Moash offered.

Kaladin shrugged. “It’s not like I’m going to practice, but if you want to.”

Moash stood and dusted off his hands. “Let’s just try it.”

Kaladin followed him up to the starting line.

“Okay,” Moash began. “You have to pay attention to your steps. Figure out the most comfortable stride, and end with your left foot forward and the right foot sliding back behind it.”

He demonstrated and then had Kaladin walk with him to do the same.

“Obviously, you’ll take fewer steps than me because you’ve got the legs of a sexy giraffe, but you get the idea.”

Kaladin didn’t know whether he’d been complimented or insulted just then, but the imagery made him snort in amusement.

“As for throwing the ball, you just stick your fingers in the holes—”

Here, Kaladin stuck his thumb, index, and middle fingers into the holes.

“No, not those.” Moash took Kaladin’s wrist and held his middle and ring fingers together. “These two.”

Kaladin pressed his lips together tightly and fought back the thrill he felt. They were _not_ holding hands.

Without any indication that he’d noticed Kaladin’s reaction, Moash released his hand to allow him to correct his grip on the ball. “Right, like that. Now rotate your hand so that your thumb is closest to you.”

Kaladin did so, imitating the motion Moash made and turning his palm toward the sky.

“Great. Now combine that with the walk and just kind of scoop the ball toward the ground.”

Kaladin did as he was told. Well, maybe not exactly. The ball flew in a small arc and landed heavily onto the ground with a loud thud before rolling slowly down the aisle and into the left gutter.

Moash winced, but then patted Kaladin on the back. “Not bad. Your form was really good. Just release a little earlier next time.”

Kaladin tried a few more times, only needing Moash to correct him once with a tap to his thigh when he’d neglected to move his right leg at the end of the walk and had nearly slammed the ball into it. In the end, they were able to play one semi-decent game before their time was up.

As they left the bowling alley, Moash again opened Kaladin’s car door for him and Kaladin wondered if this had somehow become a thing. The drive was quick and they made it to Kaladin’s place around half-past eleven.

“There, got you back before your curfew,” Moash teased as he shifted the car into park.

Kaladin snorted. “Thanks.” He hesitated, biting the inside of his cheek. He really didn’t want to go inside just yet. “I had fun tonight.”

“Me too,” Moash said quietly, eyes boring into Kaladin’s own. It felt like there was some kind of tension between them, like maybe Moash was expecting something, but Kaladin didn’t know what. Then Moash added, “Even though you suck at bowling.”

Kaladin laughed, the spell broken, and reached for the door handle. “Have a good night, Moash.”

“Kaladin.”

At hearing his name, Kaladin turned back, only to have Moash take his face between his hands and pull him forward into a resolute kiss.

Kaladin melted into the touch, feeling all his stress leave his body in a sigh. Moash _had_ been feeling this too—this attraction between them, the way they just clicked. He felt lightheaded.

Moash kept the kiss chaste and pulled back after only a moment. Face still inches from Kaladin’s, that crooked smile pulling at his lips, he whispered, “Night.”

If it wasn’t so late, if he was more sure of what exactly Moash wanted, Kaladin might have kissed him again, might have invited him inside. But it _was_ late, and Kaladin really _didn’t_ know what their relationship was or what it could be, so he clambered out of the car and slipped into his apartment with a small wave.

A half hour later, he lay in bed thinking over the night and the kiss—his first kiss since Adam. His lips still tingled and he kept catching himself smiling in the darkness of his room.

As he drifted off to sleep, he considered that maybe Adam had been right when he’d said Kaladin would find someone else, someone who could make him happy. He hadn’t believed Adam then, but back then he also hadn’t known Moash. Things might have been very different if they’d only met a year earlier.

Somehow, that thought made Kaladin sad. As much as he liked Moash—and he _really_ liked him—he wouldn’t trade the night he’d had with Adam. What he’d experienced and the memories he kept were worth anything he might have missed out on.

It seemed this acknowledgement alone brought echoes of that night, unbidden, to his mind. He remembered a bliss he couldn’t put into words and the deep-voiced profession,  _“God, you’re perfect.”_ He remembered a gentle hand combing through his hair, the undeserved faith:  _“I trust you not to look.”_  He remembered a steady heartbeat under his ear and a quiet confession.  _“I’m glad it was you.”_

Kaladin willed the memories away. He knew that, no matter what might happen next, that night and that person would always hold a special place in his heart, but he needed to live his life in the present. It was time to make new memories.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At 23 years old, Kaladin gets his first boyfriend. Let's see how this goes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another super long chapter because, apparently, I don't know when to stop.
> 
> I just want to thank all of you SO MUCH for sticking with this story, even though I misled you with Kadolin and now I'm giving you Moash (ugh). I promise Adolin will be back soon to sweep Kaladin off his feet. Patience, my friends. It will be worth the wait! 
> 
> For now, let's watch how everything blows up in Kaladin's face. :0

_And nobody else can see it,_  
_But there’s something underneath my skin._  
_And I wish I could tell you_  
_I had the worst little dream_

 

* * *

 

 

After his date with Moash—and Kaladin could admit that’s what it had been, though he hadn’t realized it at the time—Moash started driving him to and from work. This of course saved Kaladin bus fare, along with almost eight hours of travel time every week, but an added bonus was that he got to spend the first and last part of each day with Moash.  

And yet, the more time he spent with the other man over the ensuing weeks, the more Kaladin missed him when they weren’t together. It should have been the opposite (it certainly was with most other people) but some days, he found himself counting down the time until they would see each other again. (Kaladin was well aware that he was acting like a preteen with a crush, but at least he kept it to himself. Also, Moash was his first boyfriend, so he should get a free pass.)

As if summoned by Kaladin’s thoughts, there was a knock at the door—Moash was there to pick him up for work. He shoved his shoes onto his feet and opened the door. “Hey, Moash.”

“Morning,” he greeted with his crooked smile.

Moash stepped closer and Syl took that as her cue to leave, flying past them and smacking him in the face with a bright blue wing. Moash winced and rubbed at his eye while Kaladin scowled at the little blue dot disappearing into the sky. He really didn’t understand why Syl was so hostile toward Moash. She didn’t seem to care about any of Kaladin’s other coworkers the one or two times she’d seen them, and she downright _liked_ Rock—probably because the gentle giant practically fawned over her and always gave her treats. Her dislike for Moash made no sense.

“At least she didn’t poop on me this time.”

Kaladin was just glad Moash had a good sense of humor about it. (He should probably figure out how to get a sense of humor himself, one of these days.)

“You ready to go?”

“Yeah.” Kaladin leaned in to give Moash a peck on the lips.

Like carpooling, this had become a routine of theirs; a kiss hello and a kiss goodbye every day. It was nice, almost innocent in a way, and it somehow solidified the idea that they were officially together. They hadn’t done any heavier kissing yet, but Kaladin certainly wished they would. Was Moash waiting for him to initiate it? 

Perhaps sensing his thoughts, Moash caught Kaladin’s hips and let the kiss linger a little longer than usual. Honestly, if Kaladin wasn’t a responsible adult, he’d tell Moash to ditch work and they could just do this all day. But he knew better, so a moment later he broke the kiss and turned to lock up.

As was his custom, Moash opened Kaladin’s car door for him. (Kaladin thought it was silly—it wasn’t as though he couldn’t open the door himself and hadn’t _been_ opening doors since he was tall enough to reach the handle—but he let Moash do it anyway. He wasn’t a prideful person and having someone open the door for him didn’t hurt his ego enough to bother saying anything about it.)

“So, did Gaz agree to change your hours?” Moash asked as he pulled out of the apartment complex.

“Yes and no.”

The other man raised an eyebrow at Kaladin’s unhelpful response.

“He blocked off Monday through Wednesday so I can go to my clinical rotations, but he’s still going to schedule me for 40 hours a week.” Kaladin shrugged. “I’ll get paid, but I’m going to be overworked.”

“What else is new?”

Moash was right. Sometimes working at The Bridge could crush even the strongest man’s dreams, but it would take more than a bitter manager with a personal vendetta to make Kaladin give up on his.

 ***~*~*~*~*~*~***  

Of course, with it being the week before classes started for the spring semester, all of the college kids drifted back into town and, with little else to do besides unpack, they tended to wander into places like The Bridge to pass the time. It wasn’t the busiest Kaladin had ever been, but there wasn’t much downtime. Honestly, he preferred it that way; he had no time to get bored but wasn’t so busy he was stressed. It was the perfect middle ground and the day had been going by quickly.

“Kaladin.”

That raspy, tenor voice which spoke of thirty years of too many cigarettes, could only belong to one person. Kaladin braced himself before turning from his place at the dish pit to face his manager.

“Gaz.”

“The walk-in’s a fucking mess. Go clean it up.”

“Sure,” Kaladin muttered. It’s not that he minded the work, but whenever Gaz told him to do something, the man made it sound like Kaladin was little more than something foul he’d stepped in. He washed his hands (with Gaz breathing down his neck all the while, as if he was going to disobey orders) and stalked off to the walk-in refrigerator.

Upon seeing the fridge, Kaladin understood why Gaz had sent him. Someone—probably Lopen, but Kaladin wouldn’t point fingers—had managed to knock over an entire storage rack. Boxes of food lay in a small mountain covering half of the floor space, and the rack itself was leaning rather precariously against another rack. Well, this would probably eat up the remaining two hours of his shift.

Kaladin righted the storage rack first, double checking that a broken foot or something hadn’t contributed to its fall, but there was no sign of damage—this mess had definitely been someone’s doing. “Nice work, Lopen.” He wondered if the short Herdazian had tried climbing the rack to reach something—it wouldn’t have been the first time he’d done so.

With a shake of his head, Kaladin began sorting the boxes and checking for damaged food. Lopen—or _whoever_ it was—had gotten lucky in that most of the food at the top had been light, like boxes filled with bags of chopped lettuce or shredded cheese, and all the heavier boxes, like giant cans of tomato sauce, had been at the bottom; it didn’t look like any of the food would need to be thrown out.

Kaladin started with the bottom shelf and worked his way up. Not long after he’d started, he was bending over to grab another box when the door of the fridge opened and closed behind him.

“There you are,” came Moash’s familiar voice.

Kaladin looked over his shoulder as he pushed the box into place. “Yeah, Gaz sent me in to clean up someone’s mess.”

“Lopen?”

“Probably.”

Moash leaned down and picked up a box, placing it on the shelf beside the one Kaladin had just set down. They worked together in silence for a few minutes, until the shelf was too high for Moash to reach.

“I’ll get the last shelf. Thanks for your help.”

“Don’t mention it.” Instead of leaving, Moash leaned against one of the racks that was pushed up against the wall and watched Kaladin store the last few boxes. When the last one was in place, he said, “You done?”

“Yeah, I think that’s the last of them.” Kaladin looked around at the other racks and wondered if he should go ahead and tidy up the rest of the fridge while he was here. There were a few empty boxes that needed to be taken out, and some of the other shelves were pretty disorganized....

An arm snaked around Kaladin’s waist, pulling him into a solid body, and a warm mouth pressed against the chilled skin of his neck. His heartrate spiked and his breath quickened.

“Moash, what are you doing?”

The other man let Kaladin turn around to face him, a devilish grin on his lips. “Come here,” he coaxed, guiding Kaladin forward with a hand on the back of his head.

Kaladin let the other man pull him in, feeling a thrill of anticipation rush through him. When their lips met, the kiss moved quickly from chaste to heated, and Kaladin’s head spun with the intensity of it. Moash curled his fingers in Kaladin’s hair and slipped his tongue into Kaladin’s mouth to explore. And again, Kaladin let him, giving Moash complete control of the kiss. His knees felt weak and he gripped Moash’s hips just to have something to hold on to. Was this really happening?

At that thought, Kaladin’s brain kicked back into gear and he remembered where they were. He wanted this, certainly, but not here, not where anyone could walk in on them. He pulled away gently and Moash let him go easily enough, though he did frown when Kaladin put at least two feet of distance between them.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Not really.”

Moash’s frown deepened.

“I just don’t like public displays of affection.”

Moash breathed out through his nose in the semblance of a laugh. “We kiss on your front porch all the time.”

“Yes,” Kaladin agreed. “But there’s a difference between a small, quick kiss on my own front porch and a full-blown make-out session in the refrigerator at work.”

Moash shrugged. “I don’t see what the big deal is, but if you don’t like it, I won’t do it again.”

Kaladin nodded and they stood in silence for a moment, a slightly awkward air filling the room.

“Guess we should get back to work, then,” Moash said eventually.

“Yeah.”

Kaladin watched the other man walk away and felt his stomach drop. Maybe he shouldn’t have said anything. It wasn’t very likely that anyone would have walked in on them. What did it matter? They’d finally been kissing, _really_ kissing, and he’d been stupid enough to tell Moash to _stop_ kissing him. What if it took another month for them to get back to this point?

Just before Moash opened the door, he turned back. “Hey, Kal.”

Kaladin looked up from the floor to find Moash’s eyes.

“How ‘bout after work?” A small smile crept onto Moash’s face. “Maybe on your couch?”

Kaladin’s brain provided an image of the two of them on his couch and how that scene could play out. He swallowed thickly and felt his face heat up.

Moash’s smile grew into a smirk at Kaladin’s reaction. “We could have a drink, turn the lights down—”

“Yeah. Sounds good.”

Moash winked and tugged the door open, disappearing into the kitchen.

For another minute, Kaladin stood alone in the walk-in trying to calm his nerves. Now all he was going to think about for the remaining hour of his shift was what would happen later tonight. But at least Moash wasn’t upset.

When Kaladin walked back into the kitchen a minute later, he avoided eye contact with the other Bridge men for as long as possible, hoping no one would notice how flustered he was. Miraculously, no one seemed aware that he and Moash had been in the fridge together for at least half an hour; or if they did notice, they thought nothing of it. He breathed a sigh of relief as he resumed his place in the dish pit without incident.

“Kaladin, lad,” Teft said a few minutes later as he dropped off some dirty pans, “did you lose your comb?”

Kaladin frowned. “What?”

“Your hair’s a mess.”

All at once, Kaladin’s face heated up and his eyes went wide. His mind flashed back to the moment Moash had buried his hands in his hair and plunged his tongue into his mouth. “Y-yeah. I’ll get a new one tonight.”

Teft nodded firmly. “See that you do. Not that it matters to me, lad, but I wouldn’t want Gaz to give you a hard time about it.”

“Thanks, Teft.”

When the older man walked away, Kaladin hastily fixed his hair and made a note to himself to pay more attention to where Moash’s hands went.

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

For seven weeks, Kaladin did indeed get overworked, as predicted. Monday through Wednesday, he had clinical rotations at Kholinar City Regional Medical Center—and weren’t _those_ a joy—followed by mandatory online assessments. Then on Thursday and Friday, he’d study half the day and work the other half at The Bridge. Saturday was usually the day he had to pull a double shift, thereby becoming exhausted. Sunday he generally had an opening shift after barely any sleep, then he’d study the rest of the day until he passed out on his textbooks (which Moash had pointed out was a bad habit of his). That being said, he tended to just crash on Moash’s couch on the weekends, seeing as he had a hard time getting up those days.

Today happened to be a Monday, and Kaladin would rather die than get up.

“Kal.” Moash’s voice filtered into Kaladin’s consciousness, along with a touch to his shoulder. “It’s morning, babe. You gotta get up for your rotation.”

Kaladin grunted and blinked open his eyes to find Moash standing over him, still in the clothes he slept in. “Coffee.”

“Well, good morning to you, too.”

Kaladin would apologize after he had coffee, but right now that was the only word worth the effort to say.

He lurched up from Moash’s couch and shuffled into the bathroom to take a shower. The warm water helped ease him into wakefulness and by the time he’d dried and gotten dressed, his scowl had softened into a light frown and his vision went from blurry to focused. A glance in the mirror showed a smudge of deep purple under his eyes. He really needed more sleep than this.

When he emerged from the bathroom, Moash was in the kitchen/dining room munching on some toast. The other man looked up at him, hazel eyes following him across the room until he collapsed in the other chair at the table. “Coffee?” Moash asked rhetorically.

Kaladin nodded, swiping a triangle of buttered toast from Moash’s plate while the other man poured him a cup of black coffee. “Thanks,” Kaladin mumbled afterwards.

“It’s your last week of rotations, right?”

Kaladin raised his eyebrows—he’d completely forgotten—then he closed his eyes and dropped his head back in relief as all the stress flooded out of his body in a rush. “Oh, my god. You just made my day.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” Moash said with a wink. “Now eat up or you’ll be late. I’m not gonna speed for you.”

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

The following week saw Kaladin far more relaxed and well-slept. He still had classes, but his third-year rotations were over—thank god. Though they’d been good experience, they were utterly soul-crushing. He’d appreciated finally being able to learn hands-on again, the way Lirin had taught him, but he’d felt used and abused, being on the bottom rung of the ladder as he was. He’d have to do it again next year, but he didn’t want to think about that right now.

“You look better,” Moash commented as Kaladin pecked him on the cheek one morning.

“I feel better,” Kaladin agreed, turning to lock his door.

“I have a double shift today, so I don’t know if you want to take the bus home, or whatever.” Moash’s statement was made casually, as though he didn’t care one way or the other, but the disappointment was clear in his voice.

Kaladin frowned. He’d gotten used to their joint commute and he really didn’t like the idea of taking the bus home alone again. “No, that’s okay.” He pulled his keys back out of his pocket.  “Let me just grab my backpack. I’ll study while I wait.”

He knew it was the right answer when Moash grinned.

***~*~*~*~*~*~***

As planned, Kaladin finished his eight hour shift with Moash, then clocked out and relocated to an unoccupied table in the restaurant itself to study.

One of the servers brought him water, even though he didn’t ask, and he thanked her. Most of the servers were friendly towards the cooks, seeing as two of them (Kaladin and Moash) were gay and one (Rock) was happily married with children, and all the other Bridge men were just good guys in general and made sure the servers felt safe, despite the nature of their job. Lopen, the harmless flirt that he was, turned out to be their favorite, though—he was always the first to confront a patron behaving inappropriately toward them and he loved to gossip as much as they did.

Kaladin studied for a solid three hours, then took a break to continue his search for a new apartment. His lease would be up in less than two months, which wouldn’t normally be a big deal—he’d just renew it—but midway through his clinical rotations, he’d been informed that new management had taken over and would be completely renovating everything. This meant his monthly rent was going to be raised by a hundred fifty percent—bringing it up to a price Kaladin absolutely couldn’t afford. Of course, it wasn’t until this week that he’d had a moment to breathe, let alone look for an apartment, and at this point, he was running out of time. He was starting to get worried.

After an hour of rather fruitless searching on Kaladin’s part—why did Kholinar City have to be such an expensive place to live?—Moash stopped by with a couple of sandwiches he’d nabbed from the back. He looked tired, despite his smile. “How’s it going?”

“Good,” Kaladin said simply, closing his laptop as Moash sat down across from him. He didn’t want to bother the other man with his apartment problem.

Moash handed Kaladin a sandwich before unwrapping his own. “So, I was reading this article about Dalinar Kholin.”

Dalinar Kholin, uncle to the president and undisputedly the best army general in Alethi history, had retired from the military ages ago and had instead taken one of Kholinar’s Senate seats. That was about the extent of what Kaladin knew of the man.

“What’s he up to?”

Moash, mouth already full from a large bite of his sandwich, pulled up the article and slid his phone over to Kaladin.

The article was less news so much as it was speculation. According to “a source close to Dalinar”, he had been voicing anti-war sentiments and wanted to discuss a different approach to the tensions between Alethkar and the people of the Shattered Plains. He wanted to pull out of Parshendi territory strategically to end the war with as little bloodshed as possible. Moreover, the source claimed, he believed now was the prime moment to attempt another peace treaty with the Parshendi. Dalinar had his nephew’s ear—though his advice was not often heeded—and if the president _were_ to move forward with proposing a peace treaty to the Senate, Dalinar intended to convince other Senate members to vote to ratify.

“That sounds nice,” Kaladin said after reading the article, “but I don’t think it’s going to work.”

“Why not?” Moash asked, taking his phone back. “If anybody should be advising the military right now, it’s the Blackthorn.”

“But the president is never going to form a treaty, much less visit the Parshendi to negotiate terms; he’s too stubborn. He’ll never forgive them for what happened fifteen years ago.”

Moash turned his phone over in his hands a few times. “You don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“I didn’t say that. I think we should end this war as soon as possible, before it gets worse. People on both sides are dying every day, and for what?” Kaladin shook his head and took a contemplative bite of his sandwich. After swallowing, he continued, “I just don’t know if it’s as easy as a peace treaty. How would we convince the Parshendi? We’ve done so much damage to their government and their economy. And even if they did agree, I don’t know how much support Dalinar will get from other Senators. He always seems to be at odds with them.”

“He’d be a better president than Elhokar.”

“You think so?” Kaladin was skeptical. “You’re just trading one politician for another.”

“I get what you’re saying, and usually I would agree, but Dalinar is different. They say he’s a man with honor. A real politician who wants what’s best for Alethkar and all its people.”

Kaladin had heard this rumor before, but he didn’t put much stock in it. Every politician he’d ever known had worked to benefit only themselves and people like them. They lined their own pockets and didn’t think twice about the people who suffered for it. From a young age, he’d learned not to trust politicians—Roshone, the mayor of Hearthstone, was a perfect example of how slimy they could be. Many of the townspeople concluded that he was to blame for the proliferation of gang violence in Hearthstone, among other things, and Kaladin personally blamed him for his brother’s death. If Dalinar was a better man—a _good_ man—Kaladin would stand behind him. But he’d need convincing.

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” was all he said, and was relieved when Moash let the subject drop.

The other man continued looking at his phone for a bit while Kaladin finished eating. He seemed focused, so Kaladin didn’t interrupt him. It wasn’t until about five minutes later that he realized Moash was finding more articles about Dalinar and texting him the links. He almost laughed at how much Moash wanted him to believe in a crooked politician, but the other man was so serious that Kaladin kept his thoughts to himself.

“Alright, I gotta get back,” Moash said after checking the time. “Just read some of those okay? You’ll see what I mean about him.” As he stood, he surreptitiously kissed Kaladin’s cheek. “See in you in another four hours.”

Kaladin waved and watched the other man walk back to the kitchen, then he glanced down at his phone and the unread texts on his screen.

Discussing politicians always brought him back to Hearthstone, playing those miserable, rain-soaked years of his life like a movie in his head. In one scene, he talked with Tien though Kaladin hadn’t wanted to talk about what was bothering him. (But he’d needed to talk and Tien had known it—his brother had been the most empathetic person Kaladin had ever known.) And then he was chasing Tien—literally and figuratively—losing him to the pressures of society as their small town became poorer, more drug-infested and crime-ridden. And then he was watching Tien die, watching his own hands become soaked in his brother’s blood. This scene sometimes got stuck on a loop and Kaladin would slip away inside himself, haunted and aching, but today he moved past it to watch the idealistic boy he’d been turn into the jaded man he was now.

He blinked and resurfaced in the present, his phone fading into focus. He couldn’t read the articles Moash had sent him. At least not right now. He threw his phone in his backpack and opened his laptop instead. He needed to think about something else for a while.

***~*~*~*~*~*~***

By the end of Moash’s shift, Kaladin had successfully avoided a downward spiral into depression and had taken enough notes on cardiomyopathy to write his own textbook about it.

Wordlessly, he packed up and walked with Moash to the car, and when the other man slung an arm around his waist and leaned into him, he just let it happen.

“Man, I’m beat.”

“Rough day?”

“Just long.” Moash opened Kaladin’s car door and waited for him to climb in before closing it and walking to the driver’s side. When he slid into his own seat, he added, “Guess I shouldn’t complain to _you_ about that, though.”

They drove in silence, mostly because Moash couldn’t stop yawning and wasn’t really coming up with any topics of discussion. Kaladin could sympathize—just last week, he’d fallen asleep during the ride to Moash’s house on three separate occasions.

At one point, Moash started drifting into another lane and Kaladin grabbed the steering wheel. “Are you okay to drive? I didn’t realize you were this tired.”

“Yeah, sorry. I’m fine.” Moash waved him off and made a visible effort to concentrate on the road.

Even so, by the time they pulled into Kaladin’s apartment complex, Moash had drifted two or three more times—with Kaladin catching the wheel each time without comment. So when Moash pulled up to the curb to drop him off, Kaladin didn’t move to get out.

“Go ahead and park. I don’t feel comfortable letting you drive home.”

“I—” Moash interrupted himself with a large yawn. “I’m fine, Kal. Really.”

“No, you’re not. You’re staying over.”

“Don’t you have class really early tomorrow? I don’t want to get in the way.”

“It’s fine. How many times did I sleep on your couch the past two months? I’ll sneak out in the morning and you can sleep in. Just lock the door behind you when you leave.”

Moash paused, considering, before yet another yawn took over and he finally nodded. “Okay. If you’re sure.”

“I’m sure,” Kaladin said firmly.

***~*~*~*~*~*~***

Once they entered his apartment, Kaladin went straight to the bedroom. “You can take a shower first,” he called over his shoulder, as he pulled out a change of clothes for Moash to wear. “And there’s a spare toothbrush under the sink.”

Moash trailed behind him slowly and entered the bedroom just as Kaladin had finished grabbing everything. The other man took the clothes with a grateful smile. “A shower sounds good.”

Since he’d been in Kaladin’s apartment on several occasions, he knew where the bathroom was, so without further ado, he shuffled off and shut the door. A few seconds later the water started running, which left Kaladin approximately fifteen minutes to debate with himself on whether or not he and Moash should share a bed.

They’d been dating for a little over three months and, though they’d had fairly intimate moments, they hadn’t actually slept together—in any sense of the phrase—and he wasn’t sure if they were ready for that. Moash seemed perfectly comfortable where they were, and while the other man _might_ be okay with the suggestion, if Kaladin was wrong it could make things awkward between them.

But on the other hand, if Moash _was_ on the same page, he would hardly be upset by the arrangement, and it’s not like they were going to _do_ anything—they were literally going to sleep beside each other. That’s it.

Kaladin had just decided on offering to share the bed when Moash stepped out of the bathroom wearing Kaladin’s clothes, hair wet and tousled. Kaladin’s heart jolted at the sight of him.

“Shirt’s a little big on me, isn’t it?” Moash asked with a smirk.

Kaladin let out a huff of laughter mostly in an attempt to dispel his nervousness. “You should be fine for sleeping, but don’t wear that out in public.”

“Speaking of sleeping, do you have an extra blanket for the couch? Or did you already set me up out there?”

“Uh. Well.” This was harder than Kaladin had thought it would be. He took a breath and just pushed through. “I thought maybe we could share the bed. It’s big enough, and my couch is really uncomfortable.” (Which was true. Every time Moash had leaned him back onto the couch during a make-out session, Kaladin had to deal with dislocated springs poking him in the back. It was _almost_ enough to ruin the mood.)

Moash’s eyes widened and his lips parted to drop out a surprised “Oh.” Then he grinned. “Yeah, I guess that works.”

Kaladin breathed a sigh of relief. “I’ll take the right side, away from the door. If that’s okay.”

“Sure.” Moash walked over and took a seat on the other side of the bed, still smiling. “See you when you get out.”

***~*~*~*~*~*~***

After his shower, Kaladin slid into bed next to Moash. His heart was beating wildly in his chest, which wasn’t helped at all when Moash turned over on his side to face him with a wide smile, head propped up on one hand.

“Hey, babe.”

“Hey.” Kaladin did his best to calm down, willing his face into a neutral expression. He lay on his side as well, facing Moash and mirroring his position. “Comfortable?”

Moash’s smile softened but didn’t disappear. “Yeah,” he answered quietly. “You?”

Kaladin felt his lips twitch in his own smile. “Yeah.”

They stared at each other for a long moment, only a foot of space between them. Moash’s hazel eyes roved over Kaladin’s face, expression warm. He seemed to be studying Kaladin’s every feature and, based on the look in his eyes, he didn’t find anything lacking. Kaladin’s blood hummed in his veins and he let his own eyes wander, utterly relaxed while at the same time completely alert.

Moash, as Kaladin had known since day one, was suitably attractive, but Kaladin hadn’t ever felt completely free to look at him as openly as he was now. He liked all of Moash’s features: from his thick, neat eyebrows, to his expressive eyes; from his nose—just a little too large for his face but somehow totally fitting—to his constantly lopsided smile; even the shape of his jaw and the light stubble there. It all added up nicely and Kaladin appreciated the sight before him.

“Wanna cuddle?” the other man asked, and for once he didn’t sound sarcastic. If anything, he sounded eager.

Kaladin responded by shifting closer and draping an arm over Moash’s waist. He didn’t really know how to cuddle, honestly; it seemed like his knees would always be in the way, and what was he supposed to do with his other arm?

He didn’t get much of a chance to think about it though; as soon as Kaladin’s mouth was in range, Moash rushed forward to capture his lower lip, sucking gently. This wasn’t exactly cuddling, but Kaladin wasn’t going to complain. He lifted his hand to twine his fingers into Moash’s hair and opened his mouth to the tongue prodding at the seam of his lips. Accepting the invitation for what it was, the other man deepened the kiss, tangling their legs together and wrapping an arm around Kaladin’s waist.

Moash was pretty good at kissing, Kaladin mused as their tongues danced together. Though he tended to be a little assertive, he was never overbearing. Kaladin figured he was just enthusiastic.

As if to prove Kaladin’s point, Moash tilted forward to roll him onto his back and he went willingly. The other man lay over him so closely that their bodies still touched from chests to hips to knees but without pressing Kaladin uncomfortably into the mattress.

“I’ve been thinking about doing this all day,” Moash hummed into Kaladin’s neck and followed it up with light kisses to the sensitive skin.

“Really?” Kaladin panted, a small thrill going through him at the idea. He wished he could say the same thing, but most of his day had been spent worrying over his living situation and, later, avoiding thoughts of the past.

“Hell, yeah, babe.” Moash slipped a hand into Kaladin’s shirt to run his fingers over Kaladin’s abs. “You look sexy even in our stupid uniform.”

Kaladin chuckled breathlessly, distracted by Moash’s wandering hand and the intense look in his eyes. “I thought you were really tired.”

The other man hiked up Kaladin’s shirt to play with his nipples. “I am,” he insisted, mouthing at Kaladin’s chest, breath hot, “but I can stay awake a little longer.”

“Moash.”

When Kaladin didn’t continue, Moash smirked triumphantly and descended upon him with a deep kiss. His hands found Kaladin’s nipples again, pulling a quiet moan from his throat that hung muffled between their joined mouths. After a moment, one of Moash’s hands wandered lower, thumb brushing over Kaladin’s groin, and he gasped into the kiss. They hadn’t touched each other that way yet and Kaladin suddenly realized he may have sent the wrong signal by proposing they share a bed.

He broke the kiss and pushed Moash away gently with a hand on his chest. “Wait.”

Moash looked down at him with a bewildered expression.

“I’m not—I’m not ready for sex, if that’s where this is going.”

The other man’s expression fell and Kaladin wanted to kick himself. He hadn’t meant to lead Moash on. “I thought you were enjoying it.”

“I was.”

“But you’re not—?”

Kaladin shook his head. “Not ready.”

Moash looked a little crestfallen as he lied back down beside him and stared up at the ceiling.

“I’m sorry.”

The other man swallowed then turned his head to give him a small smile. “It’s okay. I don’t understand, but I’m not mad.”

“Okay.” Kaladin didn’t know what to say now. His heart was still beating too quickly and the air felt both charged and stilted between them. Everything was wrong now, and it was his fault. “I do want to...at some point.”

Moash smiled again and leaned over to give him a quick kiss. “I think we should get some sleep.”

They turned out the lights and fell into silence, and Kaladin stared into the darkness wondering what he’d just done. Should he have said anything? Why was he hesitating with this anyway? He liked Moash, he liked being intimate with Moash, he wanted to have sex with Moash, so what was the problem? Why did the thought of it make him anxious?

He rolled over, his back to the other man as his thoughts wandered. Was he afraid that Moash would turn out to be a different person than he’d thought? Maybe Moash would be too controlling during sex, like the way he kissed but worse. Maybe Kaladin wouldn’t like Moash anymore if they had sex because he wouldn’t be able to ignore that side of the other man.

Or maybe the concern was what would happen after the sex was over. Surely Moash wouldn’t be so selfish a lover as Relis had been; he wouldn’t just get up and leave right after sex. Would he? Or maybe he would realize Kaladin was terrible at sex and wouldn’t want anything to do with him after that. Worse than that, what if sex was all Moash had been after this whole time? And what if, once he had it, he’d stop being so charming? Their relationship might never be the same again.

Kaladin shoved his pillow over his head and forced himself to think of something else. Unfortunately, the first thing that came to mind was another worrisome subject. The few potential apartments he’d found earlier today that fit into his price range only had leasing hours on weekdays from 9 to 4—when, of course, he would have a shift at the Bridge for the foreseeable future. (For some reason, when Gaz had changed his schedule after his clinical rotations were over, he’d decided to give Kaladin only the weekends off—it’s like the man knew exactly what to do to make Kaladin’s life miserable.) He had no idea when he was going to be able to make it to a leasing office.

He rolled over again and chewed on the inside of his cheek. Maybe he could get a second job? Even at his current pay rate (barely above minimum wage), two jobs might cover the cost of the higher rent and still allow him to pay off his other expenses while keeping his savings goal on track (he would need that when his loans came due).

He sighed in aggravation at this non-solution. When would he have time for a second job? He still had class on top of working full time at The Bridge—it _might_ be possible, but it _certainly_ wasn’t feasible.

“Kal?” Moash whispered. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, I was just thinking. Am I keeping you up?”

“What are you thinking about?”

“It’s stupid.”

“Try me.”

Kaladin decided to explain only his most immediate thoughts—he wasn’t ready to address his more personal fears. “I think I’m going to be homeless in six weeks.”

“What?” Moash blurted. “Since when?”

Moash fumbled with the light for a moment before turning it on and Kaladin blinked as his eyes adjusted. The other man sat up and frowned at him, obviously waiting for him to explain.

“My rent’s going up and I can’t afford it, but I don’t think I can find another place so last minute. I’m stressing out and I don’t know what to do.”

Oddly, Moash gave him a crooked grin. “Why don’t you just move in with me, babe?”

Initially, Kaladin felt relief at hearing the endearment—maybe Moash really wasn’t mad at him. Then he registered what Moash had actually _said_ and blinked. He hadn’t even thought of moving in with someone, much less his boyfriend of three months. Was it too early in their relationship to be moving in together?

Probably.

“I— Do you think that’s a good idea?”

“Yeah, why not? You’re already over four times a week. You’ve got a toothbrush in my bathroom and some clothes in my closet. Hell, you bought half the groceries in my fridge.”

All of that was true and valid. Kaladin hadn’t noticed just how much time he’d been spending with Moash over the past month or so. He knew how Moash lived, knew his daily routine, his habits (both good and bad). None of it screamed that he couldn’t cohabitate with the other man. Plus splitting the rent with Moash would be cheaper than his current apartment price, much less the new rates. And what better option did he have? He was running out of time to find a solution, and this one sounded so easy.

“We’d have to move all my stuff soon,” Kaladin began. “Or maybe just throw it in storage. And you need to learn how to cook, because I’m not cooking every night.”

“We’ll just pick something up—”

“No.”

Moash considered. “Will you teach me?”

“Sure.”

“Deal.”

Kaladin couldn’t think of any other stipulations at the moment. He would need some quiet time to study every day, but that could easily be worked out between them later.

Was this really happening? Was it a terrible idea or a great one?

Kaladin took a breath and exhaled. “Okay. Let’s do it.”

Moash laid down again, one arm hugging Kaladin close. He dropped his chin on Kaladin’s shoulder and grinned. “This is going to be awesome.”

Kaladin took in the expression on his boyfriend’s face and the brightness of his eyes, and felt warm. In the eight months he’d known Moash, the man had only ever been good to him. Kaladin was stupid for doubting him. “When I said I wasn’t ready for sex earlier,” he began, noting the way Moash’s pupils dilated just a fraction, the way his eyes flickered to Kaladin’s lips. He seemed to be holding his breath in anticipation. “Well, I didn’t mean we couldn’t...fool around.”

Moash laughed suddenly. “What are you, eighty?”

Kaladin glared at the other man, offended. “You know what I—”

Moash cut him off with a kiss, one hand cupping Kaladin’s face, thumb stroking his cheek soothingly. When he pulled back, he smiled at Kaladin softly. “I know, Kal. I just have to give you a hard time.”

Kaladin would argue that Moash didn’t _have_ to give him a hard time, he just _liked_ to, but Moash was still brushing his thumb over Kaladin’s cheek and gazing at him with a tender expression. Arguing might ruin the moment.

“I’ll wait ‘til you’re ready to go all the way, but I’d be happy to take you up on your offer to ‘fool around’, if you really mean it.”

“I do.”

Moash pressed a kiss to Kaladin’s clothed shoulder and looked up at him imploringly.

“Tonight, if you’re still in the mood,” Kaladin clarified.

Moash leered at him. “I’m always in the mood for you, babe.”

Kaladin rolled his eyes even as Moash pulled him into a heated kiss that made his toes curl.

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

A month later, Kaladin woke early and took the bus to a box truck rental lot. Then he drove—for the first time since he’d gotten his license years ago (and wasn’t _that_ a terrifying experience)—back to his apartment, where he loaded up what little furniture he owned to be taken to a storage unit. While he didn’t like the idea of paying money just to let his things sit unused for months, there was no point in bringing any of it with him—Moash already had most of the same things, and for what he didn’t have, like a desk, there was no room.

Everything else Kaladin owned, he began packing into a handful of boxes to be loaded into Moash’s car when he got off of work. After only a few hours, he set down the last box by the door and dusted off his hands. His entire life was now packed away in about ten boxes. The only thing Kaladin hadn’t packed was Syl’s cage.

“Okay, Syl.” He turned to the bluebird watching him curiously from her perch on the chandelier in the kitchen. “I know you aren’t going to like this, but I have to do it.”

He walked off and into the bedroom closet—where he’d hidden her cage years ago—took her cage down off the shelf and set it on the floor. Kaladin figured it would be best to leave it out of her sight for this next part. He then pulled a leather glove from his pocket, slipped it on, and walked over to the front door.

“Syl,” he called, fiddling with his keys. “You ready to go?”

She chirped softly and immediately flew to his shoulder as she always did. He was sorry he’d have to betray her trust. He prompted her to step on his finger and, as soon as she did so, he grasped her gently with his gloved hand. Unfortunately, however gentle he was, this was unusual behavior from him and Syl let out a piercing screech when she realized she’d been tricked.

“It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.” Kaladin could barely hear himself over the sound of the frightened bird.

He rushed back to the bedroom closet, opened the little metal door to the cage and quickly but carefully ducked the bird inside. As soon as he released her and closed the door, she fluttered around desperately from one side of the cage to the other.

“I’m sorry, Syl, but this is the only way.”

With that, Kaladin threw a small black sheet over the cage, hoping the darkness would help her calm down. As much as the guilt stirred in his gut, he left her there, beating her wings against the cage and chirping frantically.

By the time Syl had calmed down a few minutes later, Moash showed up to help finish the moving process.

“Hey. You ready?”

“Yep, it’s all here.”

Moash looked around at the empty apartment before turning his attention back to Kaladin. “You know, you didn’t have to move all the furniture yourself, babe; I would have helped you.”

Kaladin shrugged. “It was faster this way.” He was used to doing things on his own and, honestly, he hadn’t even considered asking Moash for help. “So after we load up the car, I’m going to take the truck to the storage unit and unload while you go to your place to take Syl inside and unload the boxes. Then you’ll come meet me at the truck rental place, right?”

Moash nodded and picked up the box full of Kaladin’s textbooks. “That’s the plan.”

They made quick work of the boxes—Kaladin seriously owned a depressingly small amount of things—and went their separate ways.

Just before locking up, Kaladin took one last look around. Even though he’d lived in the apartment for six years, he didn’t really feel attached to the place. Perhaps it was just because it was an apartment, but it had never quite felt like his, and it had certainly never felt like home. He didn’t hold any illusions that Moash’s place would be much different, but at least he’d have someone to share it with.

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

The next day, Kaladin again didn’t have a shift at The Bridge, though Moash did, so he had the apartment to himself. He’d lifted the sheet off of Syl’s cage that morning after Moash had left, and opened the door to let her come out whenever she felt ready. It had only taken ten minutes before she was flying around the apartment to look at every little thing—she always had been curious—and Kaladin watched her with amusement in between his note-taking on talus fractures. Her good mood made him light-hearted and the day went by so quickly, he was startled when Moash walked in that evening.

“I’m back,” he called before looking up to find Kaladin on the couch bent over a notepad and surrounded by textbooks. “You look comfy.”

Kaladin snorted. “My back’s killing me, actually.”

“Oh.” A suggestive smirk slid onto the other man’s face. “Want a massage?”

He kicked off his shoes and started towards Kaladin, but as soon as he was within reach, Syl flew across the room and began attacking him—literally. Moash threw up his hands to shield his face as she began pecking at him. Alarmed, Kaladin rushed to the kitchen and grabbed a dishtowel before hurrying back into the room and tossing it over the distressed bird. Gently, he scooped her up and took her back to the bedroom to deposit her in her cage. She screeched at him angrily as soon as she was released and he stared at her in shock. This was not the bird he’d known for the past three years.

“Syl. I know you aren’t happy right now, but this is what we have to do. Moash isn’t so bad. You’ll see.”

He closed the bedroom door behind him to muffle her discontented chirps and made his way back to Moash.

“That bird is fuckin’ nuts, Kaladin.”

“I’m sorry.” Kaladin frowned at the small gashes on Moash’s forearms. “Let me clean those for you.”

“I can do it myself,” the other man muttered. “I need to take a shower anyway.”

Without another word, Moash walked into the bathroom and shut the door, leaving Kaladin to stand alone in the middle of the living room feeling like both a villain and a victim.

***~*~*~*~*~*~***

When Moash finished his shower, he joined Kaladin in the bedroom clad only in a towel wrapped around his waist.

“I don’t know why she doesn’t like you,” Kaladin said when the other man walked in. “It makes no sense.”

Moash turned his back to Kaladin as he slipped on a pair of underwear beneath his towel. Quietly, he said, “This isn’t going to work out, Kal.”

The words knocked the air from Kaladin’s lungs. They were through, just like that? No discussions? No compromises? They’d literally _just_ moved in together less than a day ago and had the tiniest problem and _this_ was what was breaking them up?

When Moash turned back around, he paused, eyebrows knitting together. Then he climbed onto the bed beside Kaladin and took his face between his hands. “I’m not giving you an ultimatum, babe,” he said with a laugh. “I’m saying I don’t think you can let her out of her cage anymore. At least not while I’m around.”

Kaladin’s heartrate slowed back to a normal pace—he was such an idiot for jumping to conclusions. “Good.” He frowned, despite his relief, at the thought of Moash giving him an ultimatum. Kaladin disagreed with the very design of ultimatums; they were nothing but threats dressed up as choices, and he didn’t take threats well. “I can do that.”

They shared a reconciliatory kiss, then settled down and turned off the lights. But no one got much sleep—Syl kept chirping and flapping her wings against her cage. So about an hour of restless half-sleep later, Kaladin stumbled out of bed and relocated Syl to the living room, shutting the bedroom door firmly between them.

Even so, he didn’t sleep well that night.

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

Kaladin was buried in piles of notes and disorganized notecards, his boyfriend hadn’t left him alone _all day_ , and he’d just lost his pencil for the third time after flipping through several different textbooks for fifteen minutes to find the specific answer he needed. He wanted to scream.

“Moash, can you get me another pencil?”

The other man looked up from a handful of notecards Kaladin had been making—why was he even looking at those? Didn’t he have anything else to do?—and said, “What’s wrong with the one behind your ear?”

Kaladin reached up and, sure enough, there was his pencil.

“I think you need a break, babe.”

“No,” Kaladin snapped. “I don’t need a break; I need some space.”

“What, is my presence annoying you?”

“I just can’t concentrate.” Kaladin gestured at the mess surrounding them on the couch. “I mean, usually I’d be done with this by now, but I feel like I haven’t gotten anywhere. Every time I start reading, you have to ask me a question or try to start a conversation.”

“So what do you want me to do? Leave?”

Kaladin scowled at the other man disapprovingly; there was no need for his antagonistic tone. “Don’t worry about it.” He snatched up his notes and snapped his textbooks shut. “I’ll go to the library.”

“Fine.”

Moash was acting like a petulant child and if Kaladin thought it would be productive, he’d point that out. Wisely, he kept his mouth shut, shoved his things into his backpack, and left the apartment (and very pointedly did _not_ slam the door because, unlike _some_ people, he was a fucking adult).

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

As finals drew nearer and term papers came due, Kaladin spent more time at the Kholin University library than he did at the apartment. He and Moash weren’t mad at each other anymore—well, probably not; they hadn’t exactly talked about their almost-argument two weeks ago. It was just understood that Kaladin would be at the library until he was finished studying. (Never mind that he often fell asleep only to be woken an unknown amount of time later by the library staff informing him it was closing time.)

Things were still fine between Moash and him. At least Kaladin thought so, until he came back one night to find that Moash had gone to bed without him and hadn’t left any lights on for him. He hesitated in the open doorway of their apartment, staring in at the dark living room and wondering how significant this gesture might be, wondering if he should just sleep on the couch and leave early in the morning.

But that was stupid. Did they live together or not? Were they dating or not? The fact that he’d even considered avoiding Moash like that meant they were definitely overdue for a conversation.

He closed the door quietly, toed off his shoes in the dark, and set down his things before making his way into the bedroom. He couldn’t tell if Moash was actually asleep (it was only ten o’clock), but he still stripped out of his clothes and slid into bed without a sound.

He lay there for a full minute, turning over the situation in his mind, filing away his self-righteous anger and trying to see things from Moash’s perspective. It’s not like Moash had been _trying_ to distract Kaladin from his studies; he’d just been happy to spend time with him. Instead of enjoying Moash’s company, Kaladin had run away—and stayed away—which probably looked like he didn’t want to be around Moash anymore. There was no way around it—this was Kaladin’s fault.

He reached across the space between the two of them until his hand bumped into Moash’s shoulder. He didn’t miss the way the other man stiffened at the contact; he wasn’t asleep after all.

“Moash?” Kaladin’s voice, though hushed, felt loud in the darkness. “Are you awake?”

There was a pause, as if Moash was considering the idea of pretending to be asleep, but eventually he responded. “Yeah.”

“Can we talk?”

“That phrase never means anything good.”

Kaladin ran his fingers down the other man’s arm to grasp his hand. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For avoiding you.”

A beat of silence, then Moash lightly reciprocated Kaladin’s grip. “You’ve been busy. I get it.”

“But I didn’t have to leave to study—I _shouldn’t_ have left.”

A rustling of sheets stirred the air as Moash shifted to face him. “I was distracting you.”

Kaladin appreciated that Moash was trying to make excuses for Kaladin’s actions, but that’s all they were—excuses. He needed to do better, needed to _be_ better than that. “I have an idea—a compromise.”

“Yeah?”

Kaladin shifted closer, certain now that Moash wouldn’t push him away, and slipped one arm beneath the other man’s neck, throwing his other arm around Moash’s back. He felt some tension leave him when Moash wrapped an arm around his waist in response.

“I’ll study here on the condition that, while I’m studying, you find something else to do—something that won’t disrupt me.”

“I might be able to do that.”

Kaladin noted the other man’s lighthearted tone. That was a good sign. “For my part,” he continued, “I’ll take a thirty-minute break every three hours.”

“Two hours.”

“Moash, this is a compromise—”

“And I’m negotiating.”

Kaladin rolled his eyes, though he knew Moash couldn’t see it. “Fine. Thirty minutes every two hours—as long as those two hours are uninterrupted.”

“Alright.” Moash pulled Kaladin closer with the arm around his waist. “It’s a deal.”

They sealed it with a kiss.

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

Kaladin collapsed onto the couch with a sigh, body feeling boneless.

“Glad classes are over?” Moash stood beside the couch to look down at Kaladin in amusement.

“Yeah. Only a year left now.” Just saying it gave him a thrill of anticipatory excitement. A year from now, he’d start his residency at Kholinar City Regional—just one step closer to getting his medical license. He could finally see the light at the end of the tunnel and he wanted to sprint the rest of the way there.

Moash smiled at him, a sort of vicarious pride in his eyes, like Kaladin’s success could be his own. “Wanna celebrate?”

“Sure. What do you have in mind?”

The other man’s smile mellowed and his gaze lingered for a moment, something deep stirring behind his hazel eyes. Then he blinked and grinned again. “Maybe I’ll try to cook tonight. Between the Bridge and your lessons, I’m not half-bad these days. And we could just watch a movie after dinner; it’s been a while since we’ve done that.”

“Sounds good to me. Do you want any help?”

“Nah, I got it. You just relax, babe.” He winked. “You earned it.”

***~*~*~*~*~*~***

Dinner turned out really well. Kaladin congratulated Moash on his cooking (“I don’t think you need me anymore. I have nothing left to teach you.”) and the other man actually blushed at the praise (“Well, you’re a good teacher, Kal.”).

They sat closely on the couch while they watched a movie, Moash’s arm slung across Kaladin’s shoulders familiarly. It was hard to focus on the movie when he could feel the heat of Moash’s body all along his side, the spicy scent of the other man’s deodorant filling his nostrils.

It had been about a month since they’d been intimate—Kaladin had just been too busy the last few weeks, and before that they’d spent two weeks being pointlessly angry with each other. Now, though, nothing was stopping them, and Kaladin’s nerves were on end with thoughts of what they might do tonight. He wasn’t worried about having sex with Moash anymore; the other man had done more than enough to prove he wasn’t anything like Relis. In fact, the idea that Moash would be such an asshole was actually laughable now. Kaladin knew he could trust him.

Before Kaladin knew it, the credits were rolling and Moash turned to him. “Wanna watch another one, or...?”

Kaladin licked his lips, heart racing as the other man’s gaze flickered to his mouth, sentence forgotten. Kaladin swallowed, lips crooking into a nervous smile. “I don’t know if I can sit through another movie right now.”

“What, you didn’t like the part where the guy makes the priest confess to his own moral corruption and then reveals that his land is worthless and his life is over?”

Kaladin shrugged, noting that Moash was leaning closer, his mouth only inches away from Kaladin’s. “I guess.”

“Kal.”

“Hm?”

Moash’s lips brushed Kaladin’s, whose eyes fluttered shut at the contact. But the other man didn’t kiss him yet; he simply smiled and murmured against Kaladin’s lips, “I just described a completely different movie.”

“Oh.”

Then Moash tilted his head and Kaladin instinctually tilted his own the opposite direction, parting his lips to greet the other man’s tongue with his own as it slid into his mouth. He let his arms wind around Moash’s waist as the other man raised a hand to cup his jaw before sliding his hand further to tangle in Kaladin’s hair. He heard himself moan and felt more than heard an echoing groan from Moash.

When they broke for air, Moash rested his forehead against Kaladin’s. “You drive me crazy,” he declared.

Kaladin raised a skeptical eyebrow. “You seem completely in control of your mental faculties.”

“Nerd,” Moash laughed, then kissed him again, lips pulling gently but insistently at Kaladin’s.

With an answering chuckle in his throat, Kaladin draped his arms over the other man’s shoulders and allowed Moash to lean him backwards to lay on the couch. Once there, Moash gripped his hips and pulled back enough to stare intently into Kaladin’s eyes. “I can be good for you, Kal,” he breathed. “I want to show you. I want to make you feel good.”

Moash’s voice was a little deeper when he spoke, and this combined with his words sent a shiver down Kaladin’s spine. All he could do was try to catch his breath.

“Say yes, Kal.” Hazel eyes skimmed over Kaladin’s face, searching. “Please say yes.”

Kaladin didn’t need to think about it anymore; he knew what he wanted. Leaning up, he kissed Moash lightly and whispered, “Yes.”

The other man laughed and positively beamed, the corners of his eyes crinkling with the magnitude of his smile. They met in a brief kiss again before Moash eagerly slid his hands beneath Kaladin’s shirt to run warm palms up Kaladin’s sides. The motion rucked up his shirt, so Kaladin raised his arms and lifted himself up a bit to allow the other man to slip it off.

“Bed?” Kaladin asked, even as Moash dropped kisses over his chest, tongue gliding along his sternum. Then, breathily, “Moash.”

The other man stood reluctantly and divested himself of his shirt. As Kaladin stood, Moash caught his hips and pulled him in for another kiss, guiding them backward toward the bedroom.

They fell on the bed and took a moment to just feel each other, skimming fingers and hands across each other’s torsos. They already had an idea of what they both liked from previous heavy-petting sessions, and soon enough they were both eager to move on to new territory. Kaladin initiated it by removing his pants and boxer briefs in one go.

“Look at you,” Moash murmured, reaching out to curl his fingers around Kaladin’s erection, giving it a light tug. “Is this for me?”

Kaladin choked off the whine that threatened to creep up his throat as the other man touched him. He’d forgotten what it was like to have someone else’s hand on his cock (he and Moash had only touched each other through clothing so far). He couldn’t speak, mouth open in a silent moan, eyes half-lidded with pleasure, and for a moment, all thought left his head as Moash continued to stroke him firmly.

“Mine,” Moash purred. Then he cupped the back of Kaladin’s head and covered Kaladin’s mouth with his own, plunging his tongue inside to rove possessively.

The kiss spurred Kaladin into motion again. He threw one arm around Moash’s shoulders to push back into the kiss, propping himself up with his other arm, fingers splayed on the sheets beneath him. His hips moved involuntarily, thrusting into the other man’s fist, and he broke the kiss with a gasp.

“Moash,” he panted, squeezing his eyes shut. “Too much.” It really had been too long since he’d done this and he was afraid he was going to finish already. “It’s too much.”

He was both relieved and frustrated when Moash released his erection.

Now that Kaladin could think a little clearer, he grasped Moash’s waist, thumbs stroking at firm lower abdominals while his pinkies dipped into the waistband of Moash’s underwear. Thankfully, the other man got the hint and removed the rest of his clothing to reveal his own arousal.

Kaladin stared at it for a moment, appreciating the dark, smooth skin, the thick veins, and the curly hair at its base. It had also been a long time since he’d seen another man naked (and let’s face it, Relis wasn’t much to look at), so Kaladin looked Moash over from head to toe (knee, really, due to his position on the bed between Kaladin’s legs), drinking in the sight of him. Moash was proportioned very nicely, indeed.

“Like what you see, babe?”

Kaladin blinked and looked back up to find Moash smirking down at him and felt his ears heat up. He smiled slightly and figured he’d just admit it. “Yeah, I do.”

Moash laughed, cheeks flushing. “You’re cute, you know that?”

“No.” Kaladin frowned, but Moash just kissed the corner of his mouth.

“Do you have lube? If not, I bought some the other day.”

“Yeah.” Kaladin had bought some a little over a month ago after they’d dry humped on Moash’s couch. He hadn’t said he was ready for sex at the time, but he’d realized he was egregiously unprepared for the day they might take it a step further.  

He leaned over toward the side of the bed—stretching to reach with Moash still between his legs—and opened the bedside table. He grabbed a condom as well and handed both to Moash. The other man accepted them but, unexpectedly, took Kaladin’s hand in his own and spread a generous amount of lube over and between Kaladin’s fingers.

Kaladin faltered.

Moash expected him to prep himself. The knowledge felt like a slap in the face, disappointment and hurt welling up in Kaladin’s chest. The expectation reminded him of Relis and the feeling of being less-than crept up on him again. The way Relis had treated him had made him feel used, like his sole purpose had been to make Relis feel good, never mind what Kaladin had wanted. He’d hated it and he didn’t want to go through that again.

His chest felt tight. During his first time, when Adam had prepped him, Kaladin had gotten the idea that the act was as much a part of sex as penetration. He’d thought everyone did it. And when Relis didn’t want to prep him, he’d believed the other man’s aversion had been a personal issue. But maybe it was the other way around, maybe Adam was the odd one. Either way, it was something Kaladin wanted out of sex, regardless of its unpopularity. So how did he tell Moash that?

Kaladin met the other man’s eyes and saw only resolve in them. Hope left him and he looked away. Moash wouldn’t understand.

But Kaladin had already said yes to sex. Could he take it back? Would Moash be angry if he did? It would surely affect their relationship.

Eventually, Kaladin decided it didn’t matter. He’d gone through this with Relis and he wouldn’t do it again. If Moash couldn’t indulge him in such a simple request, if he couldn’t respect Kaladin enough to treat him kindly during sex, perhaps they weren’t meant to be together anyway.

“You don’t want to do it?” Kaladin asked quietly, testing the waters.

“Do what?”

Kaladin swallowed. He couldn’t meet Moash’s eyes. “It’s better when someone else does it for you.”

“...Okay?”

Kaladin scowled and finally looked up at the other man—Moash’s brows were furrowed, mouth a tight line. Kaladin snapped, “Look, if you can stick your dick in there, why is it so hard to just prep me first? I’m not disgusting; we all have assholes.”

Moash blinked at him, eyes wide, and then, infuriatingly, he laughed. “Babe. I wanted you to prep _me_. I thought I’d let you top.”

Well, that certainly threw Kaladin for a loop. His anger drained away and was replaced by uncertainty. “I’ve never— I’ve always been a catcher.”

“Yeah,” Moash rubbed at the curved bridge of his nose. “I usually top, but I thought— I thought maybe I could try it the other way. For you.”

Kaladin wasn’t sure how to feel about this. How much did this mean to Moash? He seemed to be putting himself out of his comfort zone, and for Kaladin, no less. “Are you sure? I mean, it’s our first time.”  
  
Moash breathed a laugh and met Kaladin’s eyes. “Don’t worry about it so much."

He seemed sure and Kaladin didn’t want to make him feel awkward by questioning him further. After a moment of readjusting his expectations for the evening, he nodded and shifted over, pointing to the space he’d just occupied. “Switch places with me and lie on your back.”

Moash moved as directed, settling back against a pillow. Though his smile was confident, his shoulders were tense and his body language was clearly defensive. He was trying, though, so Kaladin would do his best to help him relax.

Instead of starting right away, Kaladin crawled over the other man, settling between his legs, and kissed him soundly. Moash tried to heat up the kiss several times, but each time Kaladin backed off, keeping things slow. When Moash’s shoulders finally relaxed beneath Kaladin’s hands, he broke away from Moash’s mouth to trail kisses down his neck and shoulders.

Though Moash seemed to be enjoying himself, he wasn’t as responsive as Kaladin always was, so it was difficult to gauge just how much he liked the attention. Perhaps foreplay like this wasn’t really his thing? Deciding not to linger, Kaladin mouthed his way down Moash’s chest and abs, following the sparse trail of dark hair to the other man’s groin. As he settled between Moash’s legs, the other man’s breathing picked up. Kaladin glanced up to meet Moash’s eyes, which were dark and heated and staring directly into his own. He shivered and gave Moash a small smile. Then, without breaking eye contact, he licked a wet stripe up Moash’s cock.

“Shit.” Moash squeezed his eyes shut and let his head fall back on the pillows.

Kaladin smiled to himself, triumphant, and continued his ministrations. Moash had a nice cock—a bit shorter than Kaladin’s, but also perhaps a little thicker. As he took it in his mouth, he couldn’t help thinking about how it would feel to let Moash fuck him. It had been, what, a year and half since he’d had sex? And the last few times weren’t stellar (Relis really had been a terrible lover). Moash would probably be a little rough, but in a good way. Or maybe he’d take it slow and drive Kaladin mad.

He couldn’t _wait_ to find out.

For now, though, Kaladin spent some time keeping Moash distracted with his mouth while he slowly pushed an oiled finger past the tight ring of muscle. If he remembered correctly, this one wouldn’t hurt; it would just be a little uncomfortable. Moash didn’t seem to mind the intrusion and actually spread his legs a little wider. Kaladin hummed around Moash’s cock encouragingly and pumped his finger in and out a few times until it felt like the other man had relaxed around the digit.

Kaladin moved on to a larger finger, and then another one. Moash didn’t seem to be having any trouble at all, but when it came time for Kaladin to slide in two fingers, Moash hissed above him and he stilled.

“How are you doing?”

“Just keep going.”

Kaladin frowned. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

Moash scoffed. “It’s not that bad.” He moved his hips against Kaladin’s fingers. “Besides, I’m not a girl. I can handle it.”

Kaladin didn’t see what gender had to do with it, but went ahead anyway. Moash remained silent over the next few minutes, except for the occasional muffled grunt when another finger was added. Each time, Kaladin paused to make sure Moash was still okay, and each time Moash seemed annoyed that he’d stopped. Kaladin had no recourse but to ensure he had plenty of lube on his fingers throughout the process.

Finally—which was much quicker than Kaladin thought appropriate—all four of his fingers fit comfortably. Moash breathed heavily as he looked down at Kaladin, their eyes meeting as Kaladin slid his fingers in and out of Moash’s body with a quiet squelching sound. He smiled up at the other man, placing a kiss over the jut of his hipbone.

He took a few more minutes to feel around, both to make sure Moash was used to the feeling and because he wanted to find Moash’s prostate before he got started.

But by the looks of it, Moash was getting impatient. “You ready, or what?” he asked, voice low and breathy.

“In a minute,” Kaladin hummed. He twisted his hand just because he knew it would feel nice, causing the other man to breathe in sharply. “I’m just looking.”

“For what? My g-spot?” Moash shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. It’s not that easy to find— Ah!”

Moash’s surprised expression was totally worth the wait.

Kaladin grinned. “Found it.”

He massaged over that spot a few more times, enjoying the sight of the other man before him, eyes closed and mouth agape, hands fisting the sheets.

“Stop,” Moash breathed. “Kal, stop, I’m gonna—” His hips stuttered against Kaladin’s hand. “Ah, fuck.”

Kaladin withdrew his fingers, as requested and Moash hissed. Kaladin was completely turned on just from watching the other man come apart. He hadn’t realized how arousing that would be.

He snapped on a condom (for the first time ever—and it wasn’t very comfortable, he had to admit), poured more lube into his hand, and stroked himself a few times over the condom to be sure he was hard enough and slick enough that this next part would be easy.

“God, you’re hot,” Moash commented, that crooked smile playing on his lips. “I can’t believe you’re mine.”

Kaladin felt himself smiling back, chest tight with emotion. He couldn’t believe it either. In lieu of words, he gripped Moash’s hip with his clean hand. With the other hand, he lined himself up and pressed in slowly.

He understood, then, what Relis had meant by calling him tight. It didn’t feel like he could possibly fit—Moash’s body seemed to be rejecting the intrusion.

“Breathe, Moash,” Kaladin instructed, stilling his hips. “Just breathe, nice and slow.”

“Trying,” the other man responded, voice pinched.

Kaladin waited as Moash took a long slow breath, held it for a moment, then slowly breathed out again. To help, he fisted Moash’s cock, pulling slowly, thumb sweeping over the head to smear the precome beading there.  The moment was surreal, watching the other man experience his first time (sort of), while each expression he made reminded Kaladin of his own first time. He wanted Moash to feel the way he’d felt that night, he wanted him to remember all of this fondly.

Soon enough, Moash relaxed around him enough that he could continue. It was still a tight fit, but it no longer felt like the other man’s body was actively pushing him out. And after a few slow thrusts, it actually felt more like Moash was pulling him in.

“You ready?”

Moash nodded, wiggling his hips. “Yeah. Go for it.”

Kaladin huffed out a laugh at this phrasing and slid his hands under Moash’s knees, pushing his legs towards his chest. He started slowly, just letting Moash get used to the feeling of a cock inside him (and letting himself get used to the feeling of fucking someone—the condom muted sensation, but there was no denying the squeeze and heat of Moash’s body around him). 

Gradually, he established a rhythm and picked up speed, panting with exertion. Moash lifted his arms above his head to push against the wall and Kaladin only then realized that his thrusts had been scooting the other man up the bed. Moash, though silent, looked like he was enjoying himself, back arched and head thrown back to expose his throat.

Kaladin felt his arousal building and decided it was time to find that point of ecstasy again. He angled his hips, thrusting faster, and after a few tries, Moash shouted, “There!”

Kaladin thrust in again, and again, Moash meeting him halfway each time. Their bodies met with a slap of skin on skin as he pounded into the other man. On every thrust, the head of his cock slammed into Moash’s prostate and sent jolts of pleasure racing through both of them.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Moash mumbled, body tightening around Kaladin’s cock wonderfully.

Moash was incoherent for the first time Kaladin had ever seen him and he felt a sort of possessive pride knowing that _he_ was the one who’d done that to Moash, that _he_ was the only one to see the other man this way. Warmth pooled low in his belly at the thought and he knew his climax was near.

“Kal—Fuck!”

Kaladin watched in a haze of arousal as Moash spilled his release between them, looking completely undone. It was the most erotic thing Kaladin had ever seen and he wasn’t surprised at all when his own orgasm followed quickly. He bit his lower lip, choking back a moan as he came, stars bursting behind his eyes.

“Fuck,” Moash said again as Kaladin’s vision cleared, and he couldn’t help the small chuckle that bubbled up from his throat. The other man almost sounded upset.

Kaladin slowly lowered Moash’s legs to the bed and slipped out before laying down beside him. He rested his cheek on Moash’s sweaty shoulder as they both caught their breath.

“So,” Kaladin panted out, “what do you think?”

“I get it now, yeah.”

Kaladin laughed breathily. “Me too.”

“I think I still like topping more, but maybe every once in a while?”

Kaladin nodded. It had been nice and he’d do it again, but he kind of preferred the feeling of a cock inside him, honestly.

After a moment, he shifted into a sitting position. “I think we should get cleaned up,” he suggested, pulling off the condom with a grimace. “And change the sheets.”

Moash groaned petulantly. “I’m too _tired_.”

“I think I did most of the work.”

Moash snickered. “Yeah, you did. You fucked me good, babe.”

“You’re being crass,” Kaladin chastised and smacked the other man with a pillow. “Just get up.”

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

“Syl?”

Kaladin had opened the door to Syl’s cage (Moash was at work, it being Saturday), but the bluebird didn’t even turn to look. In fact, she didn’t react at all. She’d been acting this way for the past couple of weeks—after her anger at being caged, she’d seemed to fall into a depression. She hadn’t spoken in days and Kaladin was pretty sure she was eating less than usual.

Syl’s broken heart hurt Kaladin as well; he’d sworn he would never make her live in a cage, yet here he was, keeping her locked up all week and only let out around the house for seven hours on Saturdays and Sundays. She hadn’t seen the fresh air in months because he’d been too worried she would attack Moash again.

“Don’t you want to come out, Syl?” he asked, voice pleading as he lightly brushed a fingertip down her back.

After a long moment, she turned around and sedately climbed onto Kaladin’s finger. The old Syl would have been so excited...she would have talked back to him and fluttered her wings. He and Syl used to be inseparable, but lately it felt more like a hostage situation.

“That’s it. How about we play nesting time?”

He’d hoped that would get a reaction out of her; it was her favorite game. He would hide small clusters of dried grass throughout the apartment and she would look for them while he studied. If she brought him some, she’d get a treat. He wasn’t studying now—it was still a couple weeks before summer classes—but he figured he could read a book or something while she searched. Unfortunately, Syl didn’t seem to care about the idea. Kaladin frowned and stroked her bright feathers. He didn’t know what to do.

Then Kaladin did something stupid. He pulled out his keys (Syl immediately perked up, adjusting her wings and letting out the tiniest, hopeful chirp). He slipped on his shoes and walked out the front door and then Syl was gone, zipping away until the blue of her wings blended with the sky. He thought maybe he would take a walk, run some errands, and when he came home in a few hours, she’d be ready to come home.

***~*~*~*~*~*~***

Kaladin was wrong. He’d been out longer than he’d intended but, upon returning, he hadn’t seen any sign of the little bluebird. He told himself she was just enjoying her freedom and that she’d get hungry soon enough. He grabbed one of her toys with an attached bell and sat on the porch to wait for her, flicking the bell occasionally.

A few hours later, dusk sifted down over Kholinar City, buildings becoming dark silhouettes against the colorful sky, but Syl hadn’t come home. Kaladin called for her, even brought out her favorite treats. He was worried; she’d never been outside at night before. Was she okay? Maybe she’d gotten lost and had flown back to his old apartment.

At that thought, he ran to the bus stop, waited impatiently for the bus, and sat on a frustrating, forty-five minute ride to his old place. It didn’t matter because Syl wasn’t there, and after walking around for fifteen minutes, he headed back, subdued.

***~*~*~*~*~*~***

Two hours later, Kaladin watched Moash pull into the parking lot, headlights abruptly whitewashing the pavement before moving on and plunging it back into blackness. A breeze blew Kaladin’s hair into his eyes and, somehow, in that moment he knew—Syl wouldn’t be back.


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, let me apologize for the wait. There were a solid two weeks where things got busy and I wasn't able to write like I had been before. But no one neeeds to hear excuses, so...
> 
> Second point: Please note that I have added a tag for violence. It's nowhere close to the violence in the actual books, but seeing as there's been no violence in this story thus far, I thought I would add the tag to be safe.
> 
> Third, I have added a tag for spoilers for Oathbringer. It's just one thing, really, but it is a major spoiler. You've been warned.
> 
> Last, please enjoy!

 

* * *

 

_And the black clouds came_  
_And darkened all our insides_  
_There were newspaper clippings_  
_With horrible headlines_  
_Of doom and despair_  
_And your name and my name_  
_Saying, “Who will save us_  
_From the truth of the matter_  
_That your love, though like gold, is gone?”_

 

* * *

 

“Hey. I’m back,” Moash greeted as he walked in the door and kicked off his shoes.

Kaladin lay across the couch with a textbook propped up on his stomach, music playing in one ear. He glanced up at Moash before looking back to his textbook. “Hey.”

“What are you doing, Kal? It’s summer; you don’t have class.”

“I have to keep my mind active, otherwise I’ll lose everything and I won’t be able to keep up in a couple months.”

Moash scoffed, passing the couch and peeling off his shirt as he headed into the bathroom. “You’re such a dork.”

Instead of responding to the provocation, Kaladin simply turned the page and continued reading. He never studied for the grade; he studied because he knew people would be counting on him. If he forgot something, even the smallest thing, it was a  _life_  he would be risking. He only had a year left of school—a reality which was both freeing and daunting. Soon enough, he’d be starting his residency, and there was no way he was going to let himself do less than his absolute best.

He read on, undisturbed, for another twenty minutes while Moash took a shower and changed. When the other man entered the living room again, he leaned over the back of the couch to plant a kiss on Kaladin’s mouth.

“You move your lips when you read,” he commented. Kaladin’s face heated up—he hadn’t realized he’d been doing that—but Moash just laughed adding, “It’s cute,” and kissed him again to prove it, despite Kaladin’s frown at being called cute. “How long have you been reading that, anyway?”

“I don’t know. What time is it?”

“Seven thirty.”

He’d begun reading as soon as Moash had left for work that morning, so... “Eight hours?”

“Jesus, Kal. Did you at least take any breaks? Eat anything?”

On cue, Kaladin’s stomach growled rather loudly. The traitor.

Moash crossed his arms. “Okay, you’re done for the day. Let’s go.”

Understanding when to give up, Kaladin closed his textbook and turned off his music. “Where are we going?”

“I heard of this place downtown that’s supposed to be nice. I thought we could try that.”

***~*~*~*~*~*~***

“Uh...”

“You weren’t talking about  _this_  place, were you?” Kaladin asked. “Because I don’t think they’d let us in.”

Moash eased his foot off the gas and let the car coast slowly along the cobblestone street while they both craned their necks to look out at their surroundings. They’d followed the map on Moash’s phone and had been directed to an elegant building that appeared to only have valet parking. Over half of the cars in the lot were sleek, luxury cars that had been released within the past two, maybe three, years. As if that weren’t enough, the people entering and leaving the restaurant all wore fine clothing and had their hair styled expensively. The place was clearly high-end, meant for the social elite (i.e.,  _not_  the two of them).

After another moment of gawking, Moash drove past the valet entrance and made a U-turn to get back to the main street, abandoning that idea. As he pulled up to a red light, he tapped his fingers on his knee. Kaladin wasn’t sure if it was just the glow of the traffic light across the other man’s face or if Moash’s cheeks were flushed in embarrassment.

“So...” The other man glanced at Kaladin a little sheepishly. Not just the light, then. “Chouta?”

Kaladin laughed at the juxtaposition. He and Moash definitely didn’t belong at that restaurant. “Sounds good to me.”

***~*~*~*~*~*~***

They picked up their unhealthy, low-brow,  _delicious_  chouta at a food truck a few blocks away, and ate it in Moash’s car with the windows rolled down. Though summer was in full swing, the air was pleasantly dry and a cool breeze blew between the buildings, chasing away the earlier heat of the day.

“This is probably better than anything they served in that place anyway,” Moash commented.

Kaladin snorted in the middle of taking a bite. “Chouta’s good, but let’s not exaggerate.”

The other man grinned over at him and took another bite of the messy food. (They probably shouldn’t have eaten in the car, but too late now.) “We haven’t really done much together lately, have we?”

“Moash, we _live_  together. We work together, eat together, and sleep together. What  _haven’t_  we done together lately?”

“ _Babe_ ,” the other man responded, half-mocking Kaladin’s tone, “that’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

Kaladin shrugged. He hadn’t really noticed. He wasn’t much of a romantic, so it was no surprise that he hadn’t realized their last real date had been over two months ago.  _Should_  he have noticed?

Crumpling up the tinfoil his food had been in, Moash said, “I feel like driving some more. D’you mind?”

Kaladin shook his head in the negative. He’d inadvertently cooped himself up all day; it would be nice to be out of the apartment for longer than a few minutes. Plus, Moash was right; they needed to go out and do things together more often. If they took a drive and talked, it would feel less like grabbing a quick dinner and more like a date.

With that, Moash started the car again and soon pulled onto the freeway. Kaladin idly looked out the window, watching the lights of Kholinar City recede into the night.

“Have you ever been out of the city?” Moash asked, as if guessing his thoughts.

“Well, I was born in Sadeas, so technically yes, but I never travelled anywhere between Kholinar City and my hometown.”

“Where are you from, exactly?”

“Hearthstone.” Kaladin was surprised to realize he hadn’t told Moash this information yet; although, it’s not like the topic came up often in conversation. In the scheme of things, the place he was born didn’t matter much.

“Hearthstone? Never heard of it.”

Kaladin shrugged. “No reason you would have. It’s nowhere, really; just a small town.”

“I  _thought_ you had an accent,” Moash teased, crooked grin in place. Then, more seriously, he asked, “Do you miss the quiet life?”

Kaladin usually tried not the think of his hometown if he could help it, but he did remember it. Even subconsciously, he had been aware of how different his life was now. Moving here from Hearthstone had come with a bit of culture shock. There were times when he missed the way everything had been so relaxed in Hearthstone. No one was ever really in a hurry there—besides the children and young adults, but they slowed down soon enough. He also missed the sense of community in Hearthstone. Sure, he and his family hadn’t always gotten along with the other townsfolk, but it had been nice to be able to put a name to every face. Kholinar City, being the capitol of Alethkar and the biggest city in Kholinar,  _never_ slowed down, and he was certain he’d never seen the same face twice.

“Sometimes,” he answered, finally. Instead of looking at Moash, he watched the way the streetlights illuminated the car for an instant then disappeared, leaving shadows to sweep over everything, just as briefly.

Minutes later, they drove past a sign reading,  _“Thank you for visiting Kholinar City. We hope you’ll come back soon!”_

“Where are we going?”

Moash didn’t answer right away, just glancing over at him with a mysterious smile, before offering a flippant, “Out.”

“Informative.” Kaladin frowned. He would just have to wait and see what the other man had planned.

***~*~*~*~*~*~***

Two hours later—Kaladin hadn’t realized he would be waiting quite so long to find out what Moash was up to—they were in the countryside, driving along an unlit road that oscillated between being closely framed by dark woods and being exposed to open farmland lit by moonlight. They drove with the windows down, wind tousling their hair and bringing in the clean smell of trees and cool grass and occasionally the warm scent of cows and horses. When they passed by woods, the sounds of crickets and frogs and various night birds rose to a pitch just loud enough that he and Moash nearly had to shout to hear each other over the din.

Though it was a pleasant drive, it was getting late and they both had work the next day. Kaladin wondered how far they were going and why. But just as he opened his mouth to repeat his earlier question, Moash began to slow the car and pulled off the road onto the soft shoulder.

“Here we are.”

“And where is ‘here’, exactly?”

“The middle of nowhere,” Moash answered matter-of-factly. “Come on.”

With that, he pushed open his door and exited the car. Kaladin blinked at the other man’s empty seat. What were they doing? Was Moash playing some kind of joke on him? He glanced at the ignition—empty; Moash had grabbed the keys. With a resigned sigh, Kaladin opened his door as well and got out to stand in the wet, ankle-high grass. He look around at the endless black silhouette of a forest on either side of them and at the road that disappeared into the darkness a hundred feet ahead and behind them.

“Moash, can you just tell me what we’re doing out here?”

“Look up.”

Reflexively, Kaladin did as he was told and subsequently pulled in a great lungful of air at the sight. Stars.  _So many_  stars. He’d forgotten what it felt like to stand beneath them, to be so small. In Kholinar City, the lights of businesses and billboards and cars all took over and washed out the sky to a monotonous navy blue. If you were looking for it, perhaps you might find the brightest star in the sky on a clear night, but no more than that. After years of that sky, Kaladin had stopped looking up.

“So,” Moash began in a hushed voice. “What d’you think?”

Kaladin didn’t take his eyes off the pinpricks of light. He felt as though his body was expanding, stretching to fill the vast amount of space before him, no longer trapped by concrete buildings and apartment walls. He hadn’t realized he needed this. “It’s good,” he breathed.

Moash then took his hand and tugged him toward the front of the car, where he’d apparently spread a blanket. “Better for your neck.”

They climbed up on the hood and settled down against the windshield. It wasn’t terribly comfortable, but it would be okay for a little while. They sat close, shoulders pressed together, and just watched the sky and listened to nature.

“It’s even better out west,” Moash murmured eventually, voice quiet so as not to shatter the peaceful air about them. “When I travelled across the country, I drove through miles of nothing so dark you could barely see your own nose. But when there weren’t any clouds, I saw the galaxy itself in the sky. I’ll never forget that.”

His soft words were tinged with awe, and Kaladin didn’t blame him. He wondered what that experience would be like, sure that his imagination couldn’t do it justice.

Suddenly, before their eyes, a streak of white shot across the blackness.

“Did you see that?” Moash pointed unhelpfully at the endless space above them. “I think that was a shooting star.”

Kaladin searched the speckled sky, undoubtedly in vain, for another one. He was shocked when, seconds later, he  _did_  see one. Another minute passed and he saw a third. “Is there a meteor shower around this time of year?”

“I dunno. It’s pretty cool though.”

If it weren’t for the soft starlight, Kaladin wouldn’t have been able to see the smile on the other man’s face or the dim glitter of his eyes as he leaned closer to steal a kiss.

“Make a wish, Kal.”

As their lips met again, Kaladin closed his eyes and wished things could always be this easy.

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**  

“You got some flour on your cheek.”

Kaladin looked up from where he was kneading dough on the dining table to see Moash mime brushing something off of his right cheek. So, of course, Kaladin reached up to swipe at his left cheek using a hand that was covered in flour.

Moash laughed and stepped closer. “Lemme get it for you.”

The touch was barely there, just a brief tickle of fingertips over the curve of Kaladin’s cheekbone. When it was over, he caught Moash’s eyes with his own and felt a smile tug at his mouth. “Thanks.”

“Anytime,” the other man hummed, lips brushing warmly over the cheek he’d just dusted off. “Whatcha making?”

“I thought I’d make some bread to go with the stew.”

“Is  _that_  what smells so amazing?”

Kaladin felt his ears warm. He still wasn’t used to the praise Moash gave his cooking. “I guess so,” he said with a shrug. “It’s a variation of one of Rock’s recipes.”

“Took out the crab legs?”

“Yeah,” Kaladin confirmed, sharing a grin with the other man.

“Want any help?”

Kaladin shook his head and went back to kneading the dough. “The stew just needs to simmer for a while. I’ll throw the bread in the oven and when it’s done we can eat.”

“Okay. I’ll be on the couch—out of your way,” Moash said with a wink and sauntered off, probably fully aware that Kaladin was watching his backside as he left.

Barely five minutes later, Kaladin finished with the bread, popped it in the oven, wiped down the dining table, and joined Moash on the couch.

Well, he tried to, but the couch was completely occupied by a very sprawled-out Moash.

“Are you going to move over?”

The other man glanced up from his phone, clearly just noticing Kaladin. “Sorry.” He sat up and patted the corner seat behind himself. “Here, babe.”

As soon as Kaladin settled down, Moash leaned back against his chest unceremoniously, causing him to let out a soft “oof” at the impact. He adjusted a bit to get into a more comfortable position before wrapping his arms around Moash’s waist.

“What’re you looking at?” he asked into messy chestnut hair and dropped a kiss to the back of Moash’s head.

“Just checking my email,” Moash mumbled distractedly.

Kaladin rested his chin on the other man’s shoulder and hummed for lack of a response. Then, mostly just because he could, he kissed the side of Moash’s neck and hugged him a little tighter for a second. It was nice just sitting like this together and he appreciated that their summer so far had been full of moments like this. He’d never thought he’d enjoy just holding someone in his arms, but being with Moash had given him the opportunity to try it out. He had to admit that there was something comforting about it, something that calmed his restlessness and soothed the aches inside him.

“What do you know about amputations?”

Odd topic before dinner, but okay.

“Plenty. Why?”

“Would you ever want to perform an amputation?”

“I don’t think anyone ever  _wants_  to perform an amputation. There’s usually a moral debate first, before you go cutting off someone’s limbs.”

“Then why do it?”

Kaladin shrugged one shoulder, though Moash couldn’t see it. “Sometimes it’s necessary. Sometimes if you don’t remove the limb, the patient will die.”

“It’s better to be missing a leg than to be dead,” Moash agreed, voice a little odd—he sounded determined, committed, though to what Kaladin wasn’t sure.

“Right.” Kaladin paused, then said, “Why do I get the feeling that I’m answering a different question? What are we really talking about?”

“Elhokar Kholin.”

Kaladin’s blood froze in his veins. Had Moash been serious about assassination? Kaladin had assumed he’d just been worked up when he’d been arguing with Skar that day, months ago. Surely the comment had just been an exaggeration of his feelings towards the man. Nothing more—nothing so concrete that it would occupy his mind in placid moments like these. Surely he didn’t truly desire Elhokar’s death...did he?

The other man sat up, slipping out of Kaladin’s slackened hold and turning to face him. “People can be an infection, too, Kal. Sometimes, the world is better off without them. Perhaps there are even times when a society won’t survive, so long as that person lives.”

“Moash.” Kaladin’s brows furrowed as he looked warily at the other man. “I know Elhokar isn’t a good president, probably isn’t even a very good person, but what you’re talking about is  _murder_.”

“ _Is_  it murder? Or is it self-defense? Graves says—”

“Who is Graves?”

A storm turned in Moash’s eyes. “He’s a patriot. Like me.”

Kaladin kept his voice even and willed his expression to become neutral. “And what is a patriot, exactly?”

Moash’s voice was quiet but it was far from calm. “We’re going to fix  _the_   _mistake_  that is President Elhokar. And once we do that, we’ll start cleaning up his messes, we’ll make sure Alethkar prospers the way it  _should_  have been prospering for the past  _decade_.” There was a beat of silence as Moash seemed to assess Kaladin’s reaction. Then he added, “I’m telling you this because I trust you. I know you hate him, too. I know you can see this is the right thing to do.”

Kaladin shook his head in disagreement. “I hate him, yes. But I don’t think this is the right way to go about things. Violence isn’t the answer, Moash. It never is.”

He was quoting his father, now, but the words weren’t any less true. Violence had gotten his brother killed. It had torn his family apart through grief, and it echoed in his nightmares. Violence was the shadow over Alethkar, the unspoken but often referenced “what happened fifteen years ago”. President Gavilar Kholin—Elhokar’s father—had been murdered by Parshendi in cold blood. Not long after, Elhokar—instead of continuing the good his father had begun—gave into violence and started a war with the Parshendi—a war that would never end because he would never feel that justice had been served. Elhokar would never get his father back, because violence doesn’t give—it only ever takes. To kill Elhokar now would only continue the cycle of violence. It wouldn’t solve anything.

Moash’s expression turned stony, his eyes cold. “I thought you’d be on my side.”

“I am.” Kaladin reached for the other man only for Moash to pull away from his touch—Kaladin tried to tell himself it didn’t hurt. “There’s a better way to help Alethkar. You should get involved with local politics; if you start changing things on a smaller level you can really change things on a broader scale. Kholinar City is huge—if you can change people’s attitudes here, get them to rally, get them to vote, you can change the outcome of the elections.”

“We don’t have time for that.”

“Sure you do. Elections are coming up in a few months. Now is the perfect time.”

“It won’t work. Graves knows about these things. He knows this is the only way.”

“Moash, Graves doesn’t—”

The oven timer went off and Kaladin stood with a scowl, knowing it would simply continue beeping if he didn’t turn it off. He stalked over to the oven and removed the bread, setting it on the counter to cool, then he turned back around to face Moash, arms crossed and scowl very much still in place.

Kaladin didn’t like this discussion. He was seeing a side of Moash he hadn’t known existed and, frankly, he couldn’t reconcile this man—bloodthirsty, angry, immoral—with his fun, caring boyfriend. But still, like it or not, this  _was_  his boyfriend, and he still cared what happened to him.

“Graves is going to get you thrown into federal prison. Worse, he’s going to get you sentenced to death.”

“Only if I get caught.”

Perhaps it was the coldness of Moash’s voice, or perhaps it was the realization that he might be too late to change the other man’s mind, but Kaladin panicked, fear squeezing his throat as he said tightly, “I don’t want you talking to Graves anymore. Or any other ‘patriots’.”

Moash stood abruptly, hands balled into fists at his sides, chin jutting out in an expression of defiance. “I’ll talk to whoever I want to.”

“This isn’t a request, Moash.” Kaladin met the other man’s eyes and held them with resolve.

“An ultimatum, from  _you_?” Moash sneered.

The irony wasn’t lost on Kaladin either, but when he didn’t react to Moash’s taunt, the other man deflated a bit.

“Why does it matter to you, Kal? All you have to do is nothing. You’re not going to be involved.”

“If you’re involved, I’m involved,” Kaladin pointed out. “As long as we’re together.”

 “Fine,” Moash snarled, glaring at Kaladin for a second before turning away to cast his glare at the floor instead.

He stood there stiffly for a moment, clearly willing himself to relax, and Kaladin didn’t dare say another word. After a full minute of silence, Moash took a deep breath and walked over to stand in front of Kaladin, leaning in close and reaching a hand towards Kaladin’s shoulder.

Though the air was tense, Kaladin felt his muscles relax just a little, glad they had settled the argument, and responded by slipping his arms around the other man’s waist.

“I’m just getting a bowl, Kaladin.”

Kaladin flinched and withdrew his arms. He felt as though he’d been physically slapped by Moash’s rejection. He’d never heard the other man take that tone of voice before—dark and acidic and resentful.

Perhaps Moash would go along with Kaladin’s demand, but it was clear that he wasn’t happy about it.

They ate their dinner in silence, the air electric and thick between them. Kaladin’s appetite had disappeared and he barely choked down each flavorless bite. He felt sick.

When Moash finished his food, he marched off to the bedroom without a word and Kaladin gave up on eating, instead choosing to busy himself with cleaning up the kitchen.

He’d known Moash was angry—had been angry for years—but he’d always thought it was no deeper than Kaladin’s own extreme dislike and distrust of politicians. Kaladin would be the first to admit he held resentment towards politicians, and sometimes he’d even feel a fleeting spark of animosity towards  _particular_  politicians—like Roshone—but he’d never harbored violent thoughts—much less discussed them with others in earnestness—and he’d certainly never considered putting his enmity into action. The fact that Moash truly wished for Elhokar’s death meant his anger was far more serious than Kaladin had realized.

Kaladin paused a moment from scrubbing the stockpot to glance out the kitchen window above the sink. His heart jolted and he gasped. There on the telephone wire, just ten yards away, was Syl, her bright blue wings transformed into a deep teal under the light of the setting sun. Without thinking, Kaladin dropped the pot into the sink with a loud clang and darted out of the apartment.

“Syl!” he called as he slowed to a jog then came to a stop beneath the telephone wire. He probably looked like a lunatic, shouting at a bird like he was, but he didn’t care. He hadn’t seen Syl in over a month and he’d honestly thought he would never see her again. “Syl, it’s me. It’s Kaladin. Don’t you want to come back?”

She turned to look at him, curious, and he smiled up at her.

“You remember me, don’t you?”

For a moment, she fluttered her wings and watched him, chirping to herself happily as she did so. Kaladin wondered if he should have grabbed a treat or one of her toys, but it was too late now; surely she would fly away if he left. If he just stayed here, maybe kept talking to her, she’d come down.

Just then, a sudden gust of wind ruffled the bird’s feathers and the moment was broken. She took off with a familiar chirp and didn’t look back.

“Syl...”

How could she have forgotten him? They’d been together for so long.

Or perhaps she hadn’t forgotten. Perhaps it was simply that he was no longer fit to be her owner. He’d hurt her, hadn’t he? Perhaps not physically, but he’d betrayed her—he’d tried to take away her freedom as he’d promised he would never do. What right did he have to expect her to come back to him?

He stood there a moment longer, staring dejectedly in the direction she’d vanished, before he finally turned around and slinked back to the apartment.

With a distracted pensiveness (he was  _not_  brooding), he washed the dishes, cleaned the counters and dining table, brushed his teeth, and eventually climbed into bed beside Moash.

Unfortunately, Kaladin wasn’t the only one thinking loudly in the silence of their shared bedroom. As soon as he slipped beneath the sheets, Moash seemed to still beside him. He was clearly awake, but didn’t acknowledge Kaladin’s presence—other than by way of the sudden tenseness of his body and his shallow breathing.

“Goodnight,” Kaladin ventured, the word sounding stiff and formal, even to him.

He received no response. Instead, Moash took that moment to beat his pillow into shape before rolling over to turn his back to Kaladin.

“Moash, can we talk about this? I know we don’t see eye-to-eye regarding Elhokar, but—”

With a fierce snap of his arm, the other man flung the covers off of himself and stormed out of the room without a word.

Speechless, Kaladin slowly closed his mouth—which had hung open mid-sentence at Moash’s abrupt departure—and wondered if he was being given the silent treatment. Would Moash be back, or was he going to sleep on the couch? Tomorrow, would they talk about things or would they pretend the argument had never happened? Or would they just continue to be angry and spiteful and silent?

Kaladin lay on his back, mind whirling, eyes open but unseeing.

Sleep was a long time coming.

***~*~*~*~*~*~***

When Kaladin awoke the next morning, he was still alone in the bed, the space beside him cold. He hadn’t expected Moash to come back to bed, but a small part of him had hoped.

He could hear the clink of silverware against ceramic coming from the kitchen and knew the other man was awake. Sitting up, he listened to the sound and debated on whether or not to join Moash. They usually ate breakfast together, no matter how mismatched their schedules were. But last night had ended poorly....

In the end, Kaladin decided that this morning shouldn’t be any different than normal just because they’d argued the night before.

Resolved, he slid out of bed and wandered into the kitchen.

Moash didn’t look up when Kaladin entered, nor when he walked past him to grab a bowl, nor when he sat down across from him and began eating. It wasn’t a great start.

Unsure, Kaladin chopped at his cereal with his spoon for a moment, eyes focused on the drowning flakes just so he didn’t have to see Moash refusing to look at him. But soon enough he realized he’d rather break the silence than just give up like this, even if Moash didn’t want to talk back.

“Morning.”

The only response he received was the loud scrape of Moash’s chair as the other man stood, dumped his bowl in the sink, and left.

Alone  _again_ , and growing frustrated, Kaladin dropped his spoon against the side of his bowl and leaned back in his chair, arms folded.

He understood that last night he’d asked—demanded, really—that Moash stop talking to those people without any room for discussion, but  _any_ rational person would have done the same. Moash wanted to  _break the law_  for god’s sake. More to the point, he wanted to do something that went against Kaladin’s morals—against most people’s morals. Had Kaladin been expected to simply accept it and move on? He couldn’t do that. He had meant it when he’d said that if Moash wanted to go through with this, Kaladin would cut ties with him.

It’s just that some part of him still hoped that Moash didn’t really mean it, that he didn’t really want to hurt another person— _kill_  another person. Because that would mean that Moash was someone unknown to him, someone he couldn’t say he would stand beside.

A shout came from the direction of the laundry room, and Kaladin jumped in his seat, twisting around to look toward the noise. Loud banging soon followed, punctuated by curses. When the noises didn’t immediately cease, Kaladin once again threw their argument aside—he still cared about Moash, after all—and hurried to the laundry room to check on the other man.

When he rounded the corner, he stopped in the doorway to stare at the scene before him. Moash had thrown a pile of clothes on the floor and was currently attacking the dryer—he was actually putting dents into the door with the force of his kicking.

“What’s going on?”

Moash opened the dryer door. “This fuckin’ piece of  _shit_ ,” here, he slammed the door shut again to emphasize his point, “didn’t dry the damn clothes last night! Now my uniform is wet and smells like mildew and I don’t have any  _goddamn_  time for this!”

He then kicked at the sopping pile of clothing, scattering it across the floor at Kaladin’s feet—but this must not have felt satisfying, because he then crashed his fists down on the top of the dryer with another curse.

“Moash!”

Kaladin stepped forward, heart beating faster at the furious look thrown at him. Though he’d seen Moash angry before, the other man had never been violent towards Kaladin. He wanted to believe Moash wouldn’t hit him, but the look in his eyes was dangerous. This, coupled with what Kaladin had discovered last night, had him wary of his boyfriend.

But he’d never been one to back down from a threat, so he reached out to lay a calming hand on Moash’s shoulder. He wasn’t surprised this time when Moash shook off his touch, but, even expecting that reaction, it still hurt.

“I have a clean uniform,” Kaladin said as calmly as he could. “You can wear mine.”

“Don’t be stupid. You need it today.”

“I don’t have to go in until this afternoon.” He gestured at the sodden clothing. “I’ll take all this to the laundromat and I’ll call maintenance to fix the dryer or replace it.”

Moash processed Kaladin’s words, and as he realized the easy solution being presented to him, the anger slowly bled from his face (which he promptly covered with his hands). He groaned out a muffled, “I’m such an asshole.”

Kaladin wanted to wrap his arms around Moash’s shoulders, wanted to pull him close and just feel him again, but he honestly didn’t know if he could take being pushed away  _again_  right now. So, instead, he just shrugged a shoulder and said, “You just overreacted, that’s all. Come on.”

Moash followed him into the bedroom and accepted the clean uniform from Kaladin without a word. As he got dressed, Kaladin took a seat on the bed, absently watching Moash change, and wondered how he could help the other man let go of some of his anger. He knew  _why_ Moash was angry, but it was unhealthy—just as unhealthy and unconstructive as Kaladin’s bouts of depression.

“Fits better than I thought it would,” Moash commented, bringing Kaladin out of his thoughts as the other man looked down at himself. Though Kaladin was quite a bit taller, Moash was slightly broader. As long as Moash tucked in the shirt (which was regulation anyway), it wasn’t noticeable that he was wearing the wrong size. The pants also fit him just fine—well, mostly.

“Let me pin those up, or you’ll scuff them,” Kaladin said, indicating the pant legs that half-way enveloped Moash’s feet. He fetched a few safety pins and knelt on the ground to fold the pant legs inward and pin them in place. When he was done, he grabbed Moash’s hips—without thinking—to push him backwards a bit so he could observe his handiwork. He nodded in statisfaction.

When Kaladin looked up from his position at Moash’s feet, he found a strange look in the other man’s eyes—too serious, with eyelids half-lowered and pupils dark—yet the light smile playing at his lips made the expression warm. Surprised, Kaladin smiled back and wondered what the look meant. Something about the expression made him feel exposed, made his heart beat faster.

“I’m sorry about last night, Kal,” Moash murmured. “And this morning.”

Kaladin was just relieved Moash wasn’t pushing him away anymore. Maybe tonight they could sort things out properly. It wasn’t like Moash had actually killed anyone—it was just talk, just a venting of frustration and hurt. If they could just talk about things—really delve into Moash’s issues and find some better solutions than all-out  _murder_ —Kaladin was sure their relationship would turn out better than it had ever been before last night.

“How much time do you have before you need to leave?” he asked, kneading his thumbs gently into the other man’s hipbones.

Moash shrugged one shoulder and shook his head. “Maybe ten minutes. Why?”

“Want a blowjob?”

Kaladin didn’t know why he’d made the suggestion, except perhaps because he wanted to feel close to the other man again, wanted reassurance that everything was okay between them. Moash wasn’t evil. He wasn’t beyond change. And the way he was looking at Kaladin right now, like he  _meant_  something, kind of hurt in a wonderful sort of way.

Moash lifted a hand to swipe his thumb across Kaladin’s lower lip, staring at his mouth as he did so. Kaladin felt his face warm at the touch and at the heat in those hazel eyes, which soon flicked up to meet his gaze.

“Sure, babe,” Moash purred. “If you’re offering.”

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

Summer had flown by, as Kaladin had known it would. He was now in his fourth and final year as a med student and (joy of joys!) he had clinical rotations again this semester. This meant, of course, that his schedule was once again more full than it should be and he was hooked on caffeine in order to stay awake when needed.

Whether it be his studying over the break or just the things he learned during the previous semester, he felt more confident than he had during his last round of clinical rotations, and he’d made no mistakes so far (not that he’d made any mistakes last time). Most of the hospital staff looked at him as some kind of prodigy—some of the nurses, like Dunny and Hobber, treated him with a reverence he really didn’t deserve. Even the patients gave him more respect than they had last time, which led to, quite frankly, much more enjoyable interactions and reminded him why he wanted to be a surgeon in the first place.

“You did well today, Kaladin. I appreciate your hard work. See you next week.” The attending, Dr. Amaram, dismissed him briskly and turned back to his clipboard. (The man was familiar somehow, but Kaladin couldn’t quite place where he’d seen his face before.)

With that, Kaladin walked out of the hospital and took his usual place on the bench out front as he waited for the bus. His and Moash’s schedules didn’t line up as well as they had during his last rotations, so more often than not, he ended up relying on public transportation again. It wasn’t so bad though; it gave him a moment to destress and to come back out of med student mode (last semester he’d tended to tell Moash too many hospital stories on the drive home).

When the bus arrived, he climbed on and dropped into a seat near the front, resting his head against the window. God, he was exhausted. He  _would_  just go straight to sleep when he got back to the apartment, but this was the first day in about a week that he and Moash would have more than a few hours together. The other man was making dinner tonight and they planned to catch up in the time they’d finally been given.

More than a month had passed since the night they’d talked about Elhokar Kholin, and while they hadn’t actually discussed what had happened that night—other than Moash’s apology the next morning—things had gone back to normal between them with relative ease. Kaladin hoped this also meant Moash had let go of some of his toxic emotions, but he didn’t exactly know how to bring up the subject delicately. At the very least, Moash seemed to have completely gotten over their argument and hadn’t displayed any further outbursts of rage. Perhaps he had found a healthy way to vent his feelings. And perhaps, along with that, he’d realized his feelings about Elhokar were misplaced and extreme.

***~*~*~*~*~*~***

The first thing Kaladin noticed when he opened the front door was that he didn’t smell dinner—which wasn’t a big deal; they could talk while they cooked and he wasn’t really hungry just yet anyway. The second thing he noticed was that he  _did_  smell smoke.

“Moash?”

He kicked off his shoes and looked around for a moment, but nothing seemed out of place. When he found the other man chopping vegetables in the kitchen, Moash didn’t seem concerned at all by the smell. Was Kaladin imagining things?

“I’m back.”

Moash turned to grin at him. “Hey, babe. How was it today?”

Kaladin leaned down to give Moash a peck on the lips. “Good. If I keep this up, I should have a pretty good chance at getting my residency there in a year.”

“Awesome.”

Kaladin leaned back against the counter to watch the other man work for a minute before asking, “Why does the apartment smell like smoke?”

Moash paused and blinked up at him, brows furrowed. Then his eyes widened just a fraction before his face smoothed into one of calm reassurance. “I started dinner before, but I burned the garlic to a crisp and had to start over. No fire though; don’t worry.”

The other man threw him a smile and went back to chopping, but Kaladin just watched him, feeling a creeping disappointment and a sudden urge to run. After another moment, he looked away from his boyfriend, unable to accept his easy demeanor under the circumstances. Moash didn’t look guilty at all, but the problem was Kaladin hadn’t meant  _that_ kind of smoke. The scent lingering in the apartment was unmistakably  _cigarette_  smoke.

The question now was: What was Moash hiding? Had he picked up smoking? Or had someone else been in the apartment? If it was the former, Kaladin would certainly disapprove, but Moash was an adult; he could do what he wanted to his body as long as it didn’t affect Kaladin. If it was the latter, why would Moash bother lying about it?

He had a feeling he knew the answer. He sincerely wished he didn’t.

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

Blunt teeth grazed over Kaladin’s bare shoulder, nipping lightly and causing an entire-body shudder. He gripped the sheets beneath him and pressed back into the body behind him.

“You make me so hot, Kal.” Moash’s voice was rough with arousal, hands wandering from Kaladin’s waist to his chest as he covered Kaladin’s back with his own body and pushed deeper inside him.

Kaladin panted out a quiet moan as the other man pinched at his nipples and pressed kisses to the back of his neck. He’d come home from his sixth week of rotations stressed and frustrated, and when Moash had suggested he unwind, sex hadn’t been his first idea. But now, he felt the tension in his muscles easing and he’d already forgotten what had happened at rotations earlier. He let it all wash away, replaced with the feeling of rough hands sliding over his skin, hot breath in his ear, and friction slowly building to pleasure inside him.

“I’m gonna fuck you nice and slow today,” Moash purred in his ear, hands now gripping Kaladin’s hips. “Is that what you want, babe?”

Kaladin nodded, mouth falling open as the other man just barely brushed over his prostate.

“Say it.”

“Yes,” Kaladin grunted. “That’s what I want.”

“Good.”

Moash dropped one last kiss between Kaladin’s shoulder blades before he straightened up and established a rhythm, thrusts slow but deep. Kaladin could feel every inch of Moash’s cock inside him on each languid roll of his hips and it was all he could do not to make embarrassing noises. His skin burned and his own cock ached to be touched, but he refrained for now; he wanted this to last. He hadn’t realized it, but this was exactly what he’d needed all week.

“C’mon. Let me hear you, babe.”

That prompting was all it took for Kaladin to let himself go, to stop holding back his moans of pleasure. The other man’s grip on his waist tightened at the sound—Moash liked it when he was vocal—before one hand slid up his spine and held the nape of his neck, gently urging him to lean down. He obeyed the touch, pressing his face and chest into the mattress and arching his back—Moash liked to hold him down, too. Ordinarilly, Kaladin would hate it, but hearing the pleased groans above him always made it worthwhile.

The hand on his neck migrated upward to tangle in his hair, tugging just sharp enough to sting, but not really hurt. He bit his lower lip to stifle a gasp and decided he’d waited long enough to touch himself.

Just has Kaladin wrapped his fingers around his cock, Moash’s cellphone went off on the bedside table.

Moash let out an annoyed grunt, but continued his pace, curling around Kaladin to press even deeper.

Kaladin cried out as his prostate was finally given attention, but the ringing phone was distracting him. “Ah. Do you want to get that?”

“Fuck, no,” Moash responded huskily.

“What if it’s important?”

The other man picked up the pace and drove in harder. “Nothing more important right now than you, babe.”

Kaladin’s lips curled into a small smile at the sentiment.

The phone finally went silent, the room now filled only with their heavy breathing and the occasional curse from Moash (a habit which Kaladin had come to find a little endearing). He touched himself again, thumb circling the sensitive head of his cock and smearing the pre-come beading there. Moash’s grip on his left shoulder and right hip was bruising, but in such a good way.

Kaladin felt his climax building quickly, burning through him like wildfire, heightened just a little more at every slap of Moash’s hips. He bit his lower lip, closing his eyes as he let it overtake him. Then, stroking his cock a few more times, he came with a shout muffled in the sheets.

Moash kept going only a little longer before reaching his own orgasm, continuing to thrust shallowly as he rode it out before collapsing on top of Kaladin in a sweaty heap.

“Too heavy, Moash,” Kaladin grumbled breathlessly.

He was a little sorry he spoke up when the other man pulled out—the feeling was always a little uncomfortable—and rolled off of him.

“I feel like jelly,” Moash laughed. “God, that was good.”

He then rolled onto his stomach and scooted closer to Kaladin—who was also lying face-down, exactly as he’d fallen—kissing Kaladin’s shoulder and his cheek and finally his mouth for a brief, breathless kiss. When he pulled away again, he kept their faces close and just looked at Kaladin wordlessly, a small smile lingering on his lips.

“What?” Kaladin asked, a responding smile tugging at his own lips.

“What d’you mean, ‘what’? Can’t I appreciate the sight of my boyfriend completely blissed-out on sex?”

Kaladin felt his ears warm and resisted the urge to turn away. He would deny the claim, but he couldn’t ignore the warm buzz in his veins and the way he just wanted to go to sleep right now. He was utterly relaxed and it felt  _so_  good.

Just then, Moash’s cell began ringing again, jolting them both out of the moment. With a curse, Moash propped himself up and reached over Kaladin to grab the phone.

“Ugh. I have to take this,” he said after reading the caller ID. “Be back in a sec.”

Kaladin just hummed in response as Moash rose from the bed, tugging on a pair of boxers as he answered the phone.

“Hey.” He paused as the person on the other line greeted him. “Yeah, hold on. I gotta step outside.”

As Moash walked away, Kaladin wondered who the other man could be talking to that the conversation couldn’t be had in front of him. It’s not like he was offended, per se. It’s just that, in the year or so that they’d known each other, Moash had always talked on the phone while sitting right next to him, no matter how personal the nature of the call. This behavior was unusual....

Which explained why Kaladin waited until the front door closed before he wrapped himself in the sheet, wandered out of the bedroom, and settled by the front door to listen in. He’d never done something like this before, and his heart beat frantically in his chest as he eavesdropped on Moash’s phone call. He felt a little guilty, but the suspicion writhing in his stomach told him he needed to find out what was going on with the other man.

Moash’s voice filtered through the front door fairly easily; he must’ve been standing just on the other side. “I was fucking my boyfriend, that’s what.”

Not the best way of putting that, but then Moash had always been a little crass.

“Not any more disgusting than your addiction. Can you stop smoking before you come over?”

Kaladin held his breath. He’d been fairly certain the stench of cigarettes in the apartment over the past few weeks had been caused by someone other than Moash, but hearing confirmation still felt like a shock.

“ _I_  don’t give a shit, but you’re making the place smell like an ashtray and Kaladin is getting suspicious.”

Moash paused to listen to a response, then snapped, “Because I like fucking him.”

He paused again for a long moment as the person on the other end finally said more than a few words at a time. When he spoke again, his voice was low enough that Kaladin had to focus to hear his words. “Look, if he was going to say something, he would have done it already. You don’t need to worry about him. He can be trusted.”

Kaladin’s blood turned to ice. There was only one person Moash could be speaking to, only one secret that needed to be kept at all costs.

“Yeah, I’m free that day.” Another pause, then, “Sounds good.”

Moash was clearly wrapping up the phone call, so Kaladin scurried into the bathroom, sheet and all, and turned on the shower. He had heard more than enough anyway.

He leaned against the wall while the water warmed up, adrenaline making him jittery. As he processed what he’d just heard, his chest tightened painfully and his head swam. Moash had been lying to him—for months. There was little to no room for uncertainty; Moash had been talking to the mysterious Graves. Not only that, but by the sound of it, he’d been meeting up with the man lately and even planned to meet up again soon.

Kaladin stepped into the shower and mechanically began washing himself, barely feeling the water running over his skin. He needed to think about what he was going to do.

***~*~*~*~*~*~***

By the time Kaladin finished his shower and stepped out wearing a towel, Moash was back inside, sitting on the couch with a book.

“Hey, babe. How was your shower?”

“Good,” Kaladin muttered, and hurried into the bedroom to get dressed, feeling oddly exposed. A minute later, he hesitated in the bedroom doorway before re-entering the living room. He could barely look at Moash right now, and he certainly couldn’t stomach sitting beside him. “I’m just gonna take a walk and then I’ll come back and make dinner.”

“Want company?”

Kaladin hastily shoved his feet into his shoes. “No. I won’t be out for long; I just want to stretch my legs.”

“Alright. See you—”

Kaladin shut the door on the other man’s farewell. Bitter acid was bubbling up inside him. How could Moash lie to him? Lie right to his face, time after time? And then there was the matter of Moash’s dark ambitions—he’d never actually gotten over them; he still wanted to murder the president of Alethkar.

A chirp drew Kaladin’s attention to the small patch of grass between their front door and the parking lot. He halted in his tracks and watched as Syl hopped through the lawn, apparently chasing bugs.

“Syl.”

His voice was barely above a whisper, entirely without hope, and yet he lifted one hand with index finger extended, and waited with bated breath. A moment later Kaladin breathed sharply through his nose as Syl turned to him and flew across the distance between them to perch on his finger. A smile cracked his face. He hardly dared to move.

“Hi, Syl. Are you ready to come home?”

She chirped demurely, her fluttering wings flashing the brightest blue.

“I need you, Syl.  _Please_.”

The weak confession had barely left his lips before she was gone all over again, zipping off beyond the horizon.

Standing in the bright sunshine, Kaladin felt his world going dark. He’d been holding onto the edge of a cliff, dangling over a chasm for months, but his grip was slipping.

Soon enough, he was going to fall.

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

Perhaps it was cowardice, but in the next two weeks, Kaladin hadn’t really thought of a way to confront Moash yet. It was easier to just focus on the more tangible things he needed to do, like work and his clinical rotations. But now, his eight weeks were up and he had the day off from work—there was nothing to distract him anymore from making a decision. And yet he found himself at a loss. Moash was his friend (and more). Kaladin couldn’t just give up on him, he couldn’t just throw away what they had.

Unfortunately for Kaladin, the decision had been made for him in the form of a detailed map, with incriminating notes, lying accusingly on the kitchen table.

Kaladin stared at the map with dread and disbelief, heart hammering in his chest. The handwriting was unmistakably Moash’s—and how Kaladin wished he hadn’t recognized it, wished he could just un-see it and forget it. The label on the map—in bold, uppercase letters in a different, far neater hand than Moash’s—stated this was a second-hand sketch of the Alethkar Palace blueprints. How anyone had gotten their hands on this was beyond Kaladin, but nevertheless, there it sat on their kitchen table.

There was a spiral notebook on the table as well, with quite a bit more writing—it appeared to be a full plan of action, though Kaladin could hardly bring himself to read past the first few lines. A breeze filtered in through the open kitchen window, rustling the pages of the notebook. He lifted a hand to flip it closed, to hide the condemning words.

“Kal?”

He whipped his head around towards the voice to find Moash standing in the middle of the living room, brows furrowed and expression pained.

“Kal, what are you doing home?”

“Amaram dismissed us early, since it was the last day.”

Moash took a step towards him and he instinctively stepped backwards, putting the kitchen table between them. A shadow crossed the other man’s face at his reaction, lips turning downward. His gaze then slid to the table and the papers spread there. “Why did you have to look at that, Kal?”

“I tried to call you,” Kaladin continued, feeling a little like he was trying to bargain with the other man, “to let you know I was on my way.”

“Why don’t you just forget what you saw?” the other man implored. “Just walk away. We can still be friends.”

“You don’t have to do this, Moash. You don’t have to kill Elhokar.”

“Yes, I do, Kal.” He was talking too calmly. He should be mad, yelling at Kaladin for invading his privacy. That would be more like him and would put Kaladin more at ease. This quiet, pleading tone was unnerving.

Moash continued to skirt the table until Kaladin stood opposite to the front door, effectively blocking him in the kitchen.

“I really wish you hadn’t looked.”

Kaladin swallowed. His mind flashed back to the phone call two weeks ago and he realized belatedly that Graves had already seen this moment coming, had already discussed the idea of getting rid of him. Since Moash had told him their plan months ago, Kaladin could no longer have claimed ignorance. Perhaps Moash had stayed Graves’ hand for this long, but now Kaladin seen too much.

Standing straighter, mouth forming into a resolute line, Kaladin spoke as firmly as he could. “I won’t let you do this.”

Moash’s face fell at his words. “Graves kept telling me to just take you out before you ruined everything. He’s wanted you dead since the day I told you who we are.”

“Would you really kill me?” Kaladin’s question faded off into a desperate near-whisper. He didn’t want to believe Moash was capable of that.

“I don’t  _want_  to hurt you, Kal.”

“Which matters more to you? Me or petty vengeance?”

Apparently, that was the wrong thing to say. A spark of determination lit the other man’s eyes as he spat, “This.  _Isn’t._  Petty.”

That was all the answer he gave, and Kaladin supposed it was answer enough. The unspoken words were clear; getting his revenge mattered more than Kaladin ever would. There was nothing left to say.

Moash moved clockwise around the table, and so did Kaladin, careful to keep the other man across from himself, to not let him get any closer. When Moash changed directions, Kaladin mirrored him. It could have been a dance, macabre and solemn. Two steps left, three steps right, eyes locked on each other and full of emotion.

Kaladin lost the rhythm and Moash slipped just a little closer to round the table. He lunged forward, making a grab for Kaladin’s arm. He narrowly missed as Kaladin jumped backwards, fingers closing instead around Kaladin’s sleeve and tugging before he lost his grip and Kaladin slipped further out of reach.

This wasn’t a dance and this wasn’t a game—Moash intended to hurt him, to kill him.

At a loss for anywhere else to go, Kaladin continued to back away towards the countertop, wary of the manic glint in the other man’s eyes. He realized he needed something to protect himself. When his left heel hit the kitchen cabinet, he reached blindly behind himself, groping for the knife block.

Moash’s eyes followed Kaladin’s movement as he fumbled. His poise held all the suspension of a predator waiting to strike. Desperate, Kaladin risked a glance backward and finally grasped the chef’s knife, but that was all the time it took for Moash to dart towards him, closing the scant feet between them in an instant. Kaladin had barely gotten the knife up in a shaking hand, pointing the tip straight at the other man, before Moash cracked his arm down in a bruising blow, knocking the weapon to the floor. Kaladin watched it skitter away, hope shriveling to nothing in his chest.

“I’m sorry, Kal.” Regretful though his tone was, the other man’s words held an air of finality—nothing could stop what would happen next, not even Moash himself. And with that, he slammed a fist into Kaladin’s gut with more force than Kaladin had known he was capable of.

There was an audible pop as, somewhere inside him, Kaladin felt something break. Pain bloomed in his chest and all the air rushed out of his lungs as suddenly as if sucked out by a vacuum. He doubled over, coughing wetly. The tang of iron filled his mouth and flecks of blood speckled Moash’s shirt. His legs buckled and he dropped to the floor, crumpling in on himself and curling his arms uselessly around his damaged torso. Oh, god, it hurt.

After a moment, Moash crouched over him, placing a deceptively gentle hand to his cheek. Kaladin tried to determine the other man’s expression, but his vision was blurred by tears of pain. He couldn’t breathe. He felt like he was floating above his own body, watching the scene far below him.

“I wanted to tell you this under better circumstances,” Moash began quietly. Kaladin heard the clink of metal on tile and realized Moash was retrieving the knife. “I never wanted it to end like this.”

Kaladin tried to speak but a horrible sound just rattled in his chest before he coughed again. He was probably breathing blood from a punctured lung.

“Please believe me, Kal.” Moash leaned forward and Kaladin flinched only to feel soft lips on his own. The brief kiss was bitter with his blood, more painful than the punch had been. “I love you.”

Moash hadn’t even lifted the knife yet, but Kaladin felt the whispered words pierce him just as viciously as any stabbing. How cruel did the other man have to be?

Through his fading vision, he watched his boyfriend raise an arm, knife glinting with the motion. Weakly, Kaladin held out a hand as if to ward him off, but he knew it was futile.

This was it. This was the end.

Suddenly, a scream sliced through the air and Moash shouted. The knife clattered to the ground and Kaladin tried to focus his vision. What was happening?

“What the hell? Get off of me!”

Kaladin could just make out a flash of blue along with frantic movement.

“Syl?” he gurgled.

After all these months, she’d come back. She must’ve flown in through the open window to attack the other man, who seemed to be having a hard time fighting her off.

“Ow! God!” 

And then Moash fled, unwilling to risk his eyesight and unable to rid himself of the crazed bird. The blue vanished from Kaladin’s vision along with the other man, and he assumed Syl was chasing Moash from the apartment.

Cool relief flowed over him, but he didn’t have much time. Using the last of his strength, he slid his cellphone from his jeans and dialed 911, barely able to provide an address through his coughing. He really was drowning in his own blood. He would probably die before the ambulance could arrive.

With that grim thought, Kaladin blacked out.

***~*~*~*~*~*~***

Kaladin drifted partly into consciousness at the feeling of his shirt being lifted. He was vaguely aware of a tube in his throat and the fact that he could breathe again.

“Two broken ribs. Punctured lung.”

“Cullen’s sign. Internal bleeding.”

“Blunt trauma?”

“That’s my conclusion, as well.”

The touch disappeared and he fell unconscious once again.

***~*~*~*~*~*~***

Cold on his skin and a bruising sort of pain that shifted from one side of his chest to another.

“There. That’s the source of the bleeding.”

“Let’s get him into surgery.”

Darkness.

***~*~*~*~*~*~***

Kaladin woke in a hospital bed. Machines beeped beside him, steady and familiar, and the smell of antiseptic permeated the air. There was no longer a tube in his throat, and he could breathe just fine, but his abdomen was sore and each time he moved, he felt a lancing pain.

He fell still, jaw clenched, and just breathed.

“Kaladin?”

He turned at the hesitant voice to find nurses Dunny and Hobber standing in the doorway to his hospital room.

“You’re awake.” Hobber’s smile was bright, as always, and he took the initiative to enter the room and stand at the side of the bed. “You know, when I said to come visit us sometime, I didn’t mean as a patient.”

Dunny’s smile at Hobber’s joke was small and a little wobbly.

“Sorry,” Kaladin croaked. A glass of water was immediately proffered and he took it gratefully.

“Not too fast,” Hobber warned as Kaladin drank.

But, apparently, even a small amount of water was a shock to Kaladin’s system, as he promptly doubled over and vomited bright red blood into his lap.

“Oh, dear,” Hobber murmured as Dunny rubbed Kaladin’s back soothingly. “Let’s get you into the shower. Dunny can you get a fresh gown?”

Kaladin couldn’t look at the other men, mortified that they were seeing him like this. After weeks of practically worshipping him—and him insisting they stop doing so—they were finally witnessing a moment of weakness. Then again, it was probably good for them to see him like this—their adulation had become a bit much by the end of his eight-week rotations.

He let Hobber support him as he climbed out of the hospital bed on shaking legs. As he walked the short distance to the bathroom, his abdomen ached, but he did feel a little better after having thrown up. Hobber settled him on the closed lid of the toilet and turned on the shower.

“I can wash myself.”

The other man’s smile was kind. “I know. Don’t worry.” He politely turned away from Kaladin’s discomfort and lifted a hand to the spray of water to test the temperature.

A moment later, Dunny returned with a new hospital gown and an armful of clean sheets. “Here you are, Kaladin,” he said in his quiet way. He set the folded gown on a shelf above the sink and laid a comb, a toothbrush, and toothpaste on top of it. Kaladin hadn’t even thought to ask for them.

“Thanks, guys.” He had seen Hobber and Dunny with patients and knew they were great nurses, but it was weird being on the receiving end of their care.

“Of course,” Hobber said, as Dunny blushed and ducked his head, slipping back out of the bathroom (Kaladin had become accustomed to this behavior from him). “We’ll be outside, if you need anything. Just give us a call.”

Kaladin nodded and waited for Hobber to exit as well, clicking the door shut behind him.

It wasn’t until half-way through the shower that the shock wore off with a suddenness that took Kaladin’s breath. Warm tears mingled with the water on his face as he slid down the shower wall to rest on the tile floor, his heart aching worse than his broken ribs.

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

After Hobber and Dunny had left, Kaladin had spent an hour or so debating with himself on his next course of action. In the end, his morals won out, and he’d called in an anonymous tip to OATH (the Alethi government office that investigated terrorism, treason, and other serious crimes). They informed him they would investigate his claim, but he knew if they didn’t find anything substantial, they wouldn’t continue to spend resources looking any further. He wondered how well Moash—just thinking of the man sent a pang through Kaladin’s chest—and his group covered their tracks; had he returned to the apartment to destroy the evidence?

Kaladin froze. The apartment. He couldn’t go back. Even if Moash chose to abandon the place and go into hiding, there was no way Kaladin could continue living there.

After a moment of thought, he picked up the bedside phone again. He couldn’t remember the shift schedule right now, so he didn’t actually know who was available, but he dialed the employee number for the Bridge anyway. Of course, there were about ten rings before anyone picked up, but finally someone answered.

“Hello?”

The sound of Sigzil’s voice was a relief—he was one of the most level-headed Bridge men and, most importantly, he wasn’t Gaz.

“Hey, Sig. It’s Kaladin. Uh, can you ask around and find out if anyone can let me stay at their place for a bit?”

Sigzil’s response was immediate. “Of course. You can stay at my place, if you need to. What’s going on?”

“I don’t—Moash and I are, um, not a thing. Anymore. So.” Kaladin hated the way his voice cracked at the end and hoped Sigzil hadn’t noticed.

“You and Moash broke up?!”

Oh, great. Kaladin had given Sigzil a story to uncover. “I’ll tell you later, okay? I’m in the hospital right now, so—”

“What?!” Sigzil squeaked. “Kaladin, what happened? Are you okay?”

Crap, he’d just made it worse. “I have to go, Sig. But thanks for letting me stay with you. I really appreciate it. I’ll call you when I get out.”

“Kaladin, don’t hang up!”

Ignoring the other man’s pleas, Kaladin set the phone back on the receiver with a loud sigh—which was cut off abruptly due to the sharp pain it caused—and let his head fall back on his pillow. How was he going to tell his friends what had happened?

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

Once Kaladin was released from the hospital, he called Sigzil, who sent Skar to come get him. Apparently the two of them were renting a house together, though Kaladin wasn’t sure how they managed to cohabitate when, more often than not, they seemed annoyed with each other. But if it worked for them, who was he to question it?

They drove to the apartment first and packed up Kaladin’s belongings into boxes. The place was empty and quiet, but Kaladin was on edge the whole time, trying to pack as quickly as possible to just get out of there. Any gifts he’d received from Moash, he didn’t bother packing. He didn’t want any reminders of him.

When it came to loading everything into Skar’s pickup truck, Kaladin was forced to simply stand by and watch. It would be several weeks before his ribs and his punctured lung had healed enough to allow him to pick up anything heavy. Skar didn’t seem to mind.

After they finished loading everything, Kaladin locked the apartment door behind them and dropped the key off at the front desk. He’d been lucky in that they’d allowed him to live with Moash without being on the lease. It meant leaving the place was no hassle at all.

As he climbed into the passenger seat of Skar’s truck, he let the other man buckle him in and told himself not to feel embarrassed by it. Technically, he shouldn’t even be in a vehicle right now, with his injuries.

“I’ll drive really slowly,” Skar assured him as he started the engine. He seemed to know what Kaladin was going through—physically at least—and was being rather accommodating.

Kaladin nodded. “Thanks for giving me a ride.”

Truthfully, he was also grateful to have someone with him when he retrieved his things from the apartment. Even with Skar next to him the whole time, he’d found himself looking over his shoulder and listening for keys in the lock.

“Don’t mention it,” Skar responded easily. While they waited for a clear space in traffic to pull out of the apartment complex, he said, “You know you’re gonna have to tell Sigzil the whole story.”

“What story?”

Skar glanced at him with a critical look. “You and Moash.”

Hearing the other man’s name again stung. “There’s nothing to tell.”

Skar snorted. “One day, he’s hanging all over you, and the next he’s putting you in the hospital. There’s something.”

The memory of the other night flashed through Kaladin’s mind and he couldn’t hide a small flinch at Skar’s words. Belatedly, he turned to look out the window and mumbled, “Why isn’t it enough to say we’re over? He’s not the person I thought he was, and I’m not the person he wanted me to be.”

Unlike Sigzil, Skar had tact and understood when not to pry. He was silent for several long minutes as they drove through the city (agonizingly slowly and taking  _all_  of the side streets). It wasn’t until they finally pulled into Skar’s driveway, that the man spoke again. “Sigzil is just worried about you, Kaladin. We all are.”

Kaladin couldn’t bring himself to look at him, staring through the windshield instead as he spoke around the lump in his throat. “I’m fine.”

“Of course you are—you’re  _you_. Just know that we’re here for you. We’ll stand by you, no matter what.”

Kaladin looked at Skar then, noting the sincerity in his eyes and the seriousness in his expression. Shoving down the emotion tight in his chest, Kaladin said, “I think, right now, I just need some time.”

Skar nodded. “Understandable.”

Kaladin was grateful when the other man let the conversation end there.

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

“Sigzil, you can’t be serious. That movie is terrible.”

“It’s no worse than the sappy movie you dragged me to last week.”

From his recumbent position on the couch, Kaladin lay his textbook on his face and groaned. Skar and Sigzil were good friends, but good lord did they love to bicker. It was driving Kaladin crazy.

“It won best motion picture, Sigzil. And it wasn’t sappy.”

“It  _was_  sappy. It was exactly your type of movie.”

“I don’t think I like what you’re implying.”

“I wasn’t implying anything. I was blatantly stating a fact. You like sappy movies, Skar. Just admit it.”

This one might take a while.

Knowing he wouldn’t get any more studying done until the old married couple settled their argument, Kaladin rose from the couch and ambled out the back door. He’d become well-acquainted with the backyard in the last week, using it as a refuge from grating conversations (either the kind that was happening now, or the kind where Sigzil got too nosey and brought up things Kaladin did  _not_  want to talk about). He walked over to his favorite spot beneath a shady tree and settled gingerly onto the grass, easing onto his back and finishing with a huff of aggravation—which, of course, hurt but it was worth it.

Kaladin supposed he probably should’ve taken a break from studying by now anyway. It had been about four hours. Sigzil and Skar never interrupted him (intentionally) when he was studying. Sometimes he would get lost in his work and lose track of time, and suddenly the entire day would be gone without him having eaten anything—nor having moved from his spot.

Melancholy crept in and gripped Kaladin’s chest and throat. He missed the way Moash used to encourage him to take breaks. It had made Kaladin feel like he cared. He  _had_  cared, hadn’t he? Yes, things had turned out ugly between them—and wasn’t  _that_  an understatement—but, the whole relationship couldn’t have been a lie. At some point, Moash  _must_ have cared about him....

Kaladin was soon broken from his moment of self-pity by a small amount of pressure settling on his knee. He frowned and removed his arm from where he’d thrown it over his eyes, looking down to see what it could be.

“Syl?”

She let out an annoyed chirp as he sat up abruptly—wincing in pain at the motion—and dislodged her from her perch on his knee. Even so, when he held out his hand, she alighted on his finger easily enough.

“I’m sorry I hurt you, Syl.” He stroked her soft feathers, happy simply because she was letting him do it, because she was here at all. “I should’ve listened to you. You were right,” he whispered finally. “You were right about him, Syl.”

The bluebird nibbled on his thumb like she always used to do and he couldn’t hold back his small, relieved laugh. Somehow, he knew she wouldn’t fly away this time. He continued to stroke her back and she preened at the attention.

“I’ll never do that again. I promise.”

With that, Kaladin stood carefully to head inside, heart lighter than it had been in months.

Hopefully the guys wouldn’t mind another roommate.

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

“Kaladin?”

“Yeah,” he grunted, continuing to do push-ups on the living room floor.

Sixty-eight.

“Are you okay?”

“Fine.”

Seventy. Seventy-one.

“Dude, what is he doing?”

“I...I think he’s doing push-ups.”

Seventy-three.

“Yeah, but why?”

Seventy-four. Seventy-five.

Kaladin flipped over and bent his legs at a forty-five-degree angle. Skar and Sigzil watched with bewildered expressions as he then laced his fingers behind his head where it rested on the floor. “Can one of you hold my ankles?”

“Uh. Yeah, sure.” Skar blinked at Sigzil—who just shrugged—before kneeling down and grasping Kaladin’s ankles. As Kaladin began to move, Skar asked, “Any reason why we’re doing sit-ups at ten o’clock at night?”

“Just—” Kaladin puffed “wanted to—” he grunted “do some exercise. Finally.”

“...Okay.” Skar waited for almost a full minute before he asked, “This doesn’t have anything to do with Moash, does it?”

Fifty-nine. Sixty. Sixty-one.

“Kaladin,” Sigzil’s voice was meek. “I know this sounds cliché, but you’re better off without him.”

Kaladin scowled over at the other man and he snapped his mouth shut.

Seventy-two.

“Maybe we should all go to the barracks tonight. That might cheer you up.”

“No thanks.”

Seventy-seven. Seventy-eight.

“Oh! We could get him a puppy!”

Skar turned to his roommate, voice exasperated. “Really, Sig?”

Eighty.

Kaladin lay back on the floor, panting to catch his breath and relishing in the fact that doing so no longer hurt. Though he would never admit it, the other two were right; he was trying to distract himself from thoughts of Moash. He’d been doing fine for the better part of a month, but earlier today, Gaz had confronted him about his ex-boyfriend’s whereabouts—seeing as the man hadn’t shown up for work since the day he’d sent Kaladin to the hospital. Of course, Kaladin hadn’t been able to provide an answer and Gaz had muttered something ugly just low enough that Kaladin couldn’t be sure he’d said it (though he definitely had, because it was Gaz).

Anyway, the whole thing had tossed Kaladin into a spiral of dark thoughts and bittersweet memories that he’d really rather have wiped from his mind. He couldn’t concentrate on studying and couldn’t fall asleep, so he figured he’d just exhaust his body and maybe he could pass out into a blissful, dreamless sleep.

“Do you want to talk?” Skar asked, still sitting on the floor beside Kaladin. “You knew him best, so I won’t have much input, but I’m a good listener.”

Ha. Kaladin hadn’t known Moash any better than the others had. It’s just that Kaladin had been stupid enough to believe in him.

Some part of him still did.

He wanted to rip that part out of his chest and burn it.

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

After a little more than a month and a half of living with Sigzil and Skar, Kaladin had managed to find an apartment he could afford and which was only a few miles away.

Since Kaladin’s friends were actually good people, he didn’t even need to ask them to help with the move; without a word from him—other than, “I found a place”—Skar and Sigzil scheduled a day off that coincided with his, and they all went through the cumbersome process of moving in all of Kaladin’s things.

Fortunately, Kaladin had had the presence of mind not to unpack any of his boxes over the last nine weeks, so they didn’t have to waste any time packing. They spent just a few minutes loading his boxes into the bed of Skar’s truck—which they were using in lieu of paying for a moving van—in the morning, and made the quick trip to Kaladin’s new apartment complex.

Before unloading anything, Kaladin led them up the stairs to his second-floor apartment so they could get an idea of where they were going.

“This is it,” Kaladin said as he unlocked the door and let them in. He didn’t bother showing them around; the place wasn’t very big or particularly nice.

Sigzil stood in the entranceway, hands folded together and brows creased in concern as he looked around.

“Spit it out, Sig. I know you have an opinion.”

The other man held back for a moment more before blurting, “This doesn’t look like a very good neighborhood, Kaladin.”

“It’s the only place I could get at this time of year.”

“Yeah, but—it’s  _dangerous_.”

Kaladin rolled his eyes. Sigzil was such a worrier.

Skar then piped up, “You  _could_ stay with us a little longer, if you need to. It’s no big deal.”

“Guys, I’ll be fine. I can take care of myself.” Before they could say anything more, he added, “Can we just get this over with before it gets too hot out?”

The other two shared a look, but dropped the subject and followed him back out to Skar’s truck.

Kaladin certainly cared about his friends, and he was beyond grateful that they’d let him stay with them, but he  _couldn’t_  handle another month of living with them. He needed some time to himself. And if that meant living in a “bad” area for a year, so be it.

***~*~*~*~*~*~***

After moving in all of the boxes, there was the matter of the furniture Kaladin had left in storage when he’d moved in with Moash. Thankfully, between the three of them, the labor wasn’t too intense and they got everything moved within a couple hours (as opposed to Kaladin’s half-day adventure when he’d done everything by himself)—and finished by early afternoon.

As a thank you for the help, Kaladin ordered a couple pizzas and they all sat at the dining table, exhausted, eating out of the box.

“Why is pizza always  _the best_  after moving furniture?” Skar asked around a mouthful of pepperoni.

“Dunno,” Sigzil mumbled in response, taking another slice of cheese. He was practically lying on the table as he ate, chin propped on one forearm and stuffing his face horizontally. Kaladin felt a little bad for working him so hard—he was the smallest of the three of them.

“It’s because you’ve been sweating out all of your electrolytes. Your body is craving the nutrients it just lost.”

“Ah. Thank you, Professor Kaladin.”

They chatted and ate for the next twenty minutes or so, feeling drained but accomplished.

Kaladin supposed he would miss living with the other two men, to some extent. As Bridge men, they had already been close, but while living with them, Kaladin had bonded with them a little more. He now knew quite a lot about other cultures, thanks to Sigzil and his anthropology studies (he was just shy of his master’s degree) and had watched the usually-reserved man come alive with stories from his travels, talking of countries Kaladin had never even heard of. And he’d come to understand the depth of Skar’s loyalty and the value he placed on friendship (in fact, the man had become somewhat of a confidant over the last few weeks). At least they’d still see each other at work, but he could probably make an effort to hang out outside of work more often than he used to.

When they were ready to leave, Kaladin walked them to the door, where they all hovered for a moment before he broke the tension by saying, “Thanks again, you guys. For everything.”

Sigzil stepped forward to give Kaladin a brotherly hug (complete with a thumping on the back). “Take care of yourself, Kaladin. If I notice you looking even a little off at work, you and I are going to have a talk.”

“Yes, mom.”

Skar took Sigzil’s place a moment later, his hug much tighter despite the fact that he and Kaladin were drenched in sweat. “Let us know if you need anything,” he said quietly. “I know you can live alone—you did it before—but it’s okay to ask for help.”

“Thanks, Skar.”

With that, they said their final goodbyes and left.

As soon as Kaladin shut the door, he felt an emptiness he couldn’t explain. He was actually alone for the first time in ten months. It felt like he’d taken three steps forward and two steps back.

He took a seat on the couch and looked around the unfamiliar apartment. Syl alighted on his shoulder, an unobtrusive but steady presence.

Now that no one else was around, Kaladin had to face the reality of what had happened between himself and Moash. Kaladin had trusted him, had been willfully blind to the man Moash really was. His feelings for Moash had gotten him hurt in the end, and though his physical injuries had healed, the lingering pain of betrayal snaked its way around his heart, constricting and suffocating.

He would never be that stupid again.

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

A mere week after moving, Kaladin adjusted to his new living arrangements easily, as though he’d stepped through a time machine and had simply gone back to his life as it had been two years ago. While that could have been a depressing thought, he chose to believe he never should’ve changed things in the first place. This was how things were supposed to be.

Moash never crossed his mind much anymore, and when he did, Kaladin felt less of a sense of loss and more a sense of regret over a poor decision made. How much of their relationship had even been real? How much of what Moash had said was the truth? The understanding that they weren’t actually as compatible as Kaladin had been led to believe was the breakthrough he’d needed to finally get over the other man. It had taken a few months since the breakup (for lack of a better term), but he was finally back to his old self before he’d met Moash—not happy, but content, and, most importantly, not hurting.

Kaladin was currently sitting on the floor at his coffee table, his secondhand laptop open to a word document of a 15 page research paper that would be due before the Thanksgiving holiday in two weeks.

Syl “helped” from a swing hung from the ceiling (Kaladin had installed it just the day before and she was obsessed with the novelty), dancing from one end to the other and twittering happily to herself. He glanced over at her from time to time and smiled to see her joy. Now that the weather was cooler, he often propped the windows open while he was home to let her come and go as she pleased. (At first, he had worried she would disappear again, but the bluebird had not yet failed to come back each day and he’d had to remind himself to trust her.)

The television was on low in the background, mostly just to provide a bit of white noise to help him concentrate. But as the reporter began speaking of the election results, Kaladin grabbed the remote to turn up the volume.

_“...by a landslide, Jasnah Kholin wins the presidency.”_

For a moment, Kaladin thought of Moash. How would he react to the news of another Kholin in the office? Although, it had seemed he’d only hated Elhokar specifically.... Either way, a wave of relief washed over Kaladin. With Elhokar soon to exit the position, surely Moash and his group would abandon their plans of assassination. What would be the point? It was like a weight had been lifted from Kaladin’s shoulders; he no longer had to worry that he’d see something in the news about Elhokar’s untimely death. He no longer had to fear that Moash was out there somewhere, hurting someone.

With that thought, Kaladin turned the volume down again and went back to his paper.

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

New Year’s Eve was one of the busiest nights at the Bridge. Since his classes had ended in early December, Kaladin had picked up as many shifts as possible, including New Year’s because it often meant a lot of overtime pay.

As they did every year, the Bridge men (on shift was Kaladin, Teft, Skar, and Sigzil) closed the kitchen at one o’clock in the morning (though the bar would stay open for another hour) and got to work doing a deep clean of all of the equipment, literally scrubbing the kitchen from top to bottom. It was grueling work and lasted them until the sun came up at six. In just a few hours, the next shift would begin to open the restaurant again, but as for the four of them, they said their goodbyes and dragged themselves home.

When Kaladin stepped off the bus an hour later, he figured he might as well get his mail while he was out, seeing as he'd forgotten to pick it up the day before. It was only a short detour, and he looked through the envelopes in his hands as he took the stairs up to his apartment. Most of it was junk mail, but one item stood out; a postcard with a picture of the Alethkar Palace. Odd. He didn’t know anyone who had been travelling lately—certainly no one who would have bothered to send him a postcard. He unlocked his door absentmindedly and flipped the postcard over to read the back.

The rest of his mail fell to the floor as he took in the familiar scrawl with dread. “No.”

The note was short and seemingly innocent:  _Happy New Year, babe_. But Kaladin knew what the message meant.

He couldn’t get to the remote fast enough, pressing too many buttons at once in his haste to turn on the television. Once the picture faded into view, he didn’t have to bother finding the right channel; they were all showing the same thing.

Elhokar Kholin was dead.


End file.
